IS 


Ex  Libris 
C.  K.  OGDEN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Iknicfterbccf^cr  IRuggeta 


Nugget—"  a  diminutive  mass  of  precious  metal. 


42   VOLUMES    NOW    READY. 
For  full  list  see  end  of  this  volume. 


/ 


Li'' 


/^'^ 


THE  WEDDING  DRESS. 


Prontispiece. 


THE 


VICAR    OF    WAKEFIELD 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH 


WITH  THIRTY-TIVO  ILLUSTRATIONS  AFTER  DESIGNS 
BY  IVILLIAM  MULREADY,  R.A. 


NEW   YORK  AND    LONDON 

G,    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 
Ubc  TKnfcfterbocfter  press 


Electrotyped,  Printed,  and  Bound  by 

Ubc  Iknicherbocfter  press,  "OAew  ^ovk 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 


THB  AUTHOR  TO  HIS  READERS/ 


There  are  a  hundred  faults  in  this  thing,  and 
a  hundred  things  might  be  said  to  prove  them 
beauties  ;  but  it  is  needless.  A  book  may  be 
atnusing  with  numerous  errors,  or  it  may  be 
very  dull  without  a  single  absurdity.  The  hero 
of  this  piece  unites  in  himself  the  three  greatest 
characters  upon  earth  :  he  is  a  priest,  a  hus- 
bandman, and  the  father  of  a  family.  He  is 
drawn  as  ready  to  teach,  and  ready  to  obey  :  as 
simple  in  affluence,  and  majestic  in  adversity. 
In  this  age  of  opulence  and  refinement,  whom 
can  such  a  character  please  ?  Such  as  are  fond 
of  high  life,  will  turn  with  disdain  from  the 
simplicity  of  his  country  fireside.  Such  as 
mistake  ribaldry  for  humor,  will  find  no  wit  in 
his  harmless  conversation  ;  and  such  as  have 
been  taught  to  deride  religion,  will  laugh  at  one 
whose  chief  stores  of  comfort  are  drawn  from 
futurity. 

Ol^IVER   GOI^DSMITH. 


1  AKn^Kf; 


CONTENTS. 


I.— The  Description  of  the  Family  of  Wakefield,  in 
Which  a  Kindred  I,ikeness  Prevails,  as  Well  of 
Minds  as  of  Persons i 

II.— Family  Misfortunes — The  I,oss  of  Fortune  Only 

Senses  to  Increase  the  Pride  of  the  Worthy       .      7 

III. — A  Migration— The  Fortunate  Circumstances  of 
Our  lyives  are  Generally  Found  at  Last  to  be 
of  Our  Own  Procuring 14 

IV.— A  Proof  that  Fven  the  Humblest  Fortune  may 
Grant  Happiness,  Which  Depends  Not  On  Cir- 
cumstances but  Constitution 25 

V. — A  New  and  Great  Acquaintance  Introduced  - 
What  We  Place  Most  Hopes  upon  Generally 
Proves  Most  Fatal 31 

VI. — The  Happiness  of  a  Country  Fireside  .        .        .    .^8 

VII.— A  Town  Wit  Described— The  Dullest  Fellows 

may  I,eam  to  be  Comical  for  a  Night  or  Two  .    45 

VIII.— An  Amour  Which  Promises  Little  Good  For- 
tune, yet  may  be  Productive  of  Much         .         .    53 

IX. — Two  Ladies  of  Great  Distinction  Introduced  — 
Superior  Finery  Ever  Seems  to  Confer  Supe- 
rior Breeding 64 

X.— The  Family  Endeavors  to  Cope  with  Their  Bet- 
ters—The Miseries  of  the  Poor  When  The\' 
Attempt  to  Appear  above  Their  Circumstances.    70 


Contents 


XI.— Tbe  Family  Still  Resolve  to  Hold   Up   Their 

Heads 78 ' 

XII.— Fortune  Seems  Resolved  to  Humble  the  Family 
of  Wakefield— Mortifications  Are  Often  More 
Painful  than  Real  Calamities         ....    86 

XIII.— Mr.  Eurchell  is  Found  to  be  an  Enemy ;  for 
He  Has  the  Confidence  to  Give  Disagreeable 
Advice 95 

XIV.— Fresh  Mortifications,  or  a  Demonstration  that 

Seeming  Calamities  may  be  Real  Blessings        .  loi 

XV.— All  Mr.  Burchell's  Villainy  at  Once  Detected— 

The  Folly  of  Being  Over- Wise      .        .        .        .111 

XVI.— The  Family  Use  Art ;  Which  is  Opposed  with 

Still  Greater 120 

X\t;i.— Scarcely  Any  Virtue    Found  to  Resist   the 

Power  of  Long- and  Pleasing  Temptation   .        .129 

XVIIL— The  Pursuit  of  a  Father  to  Reclaim  a  Lost 

Child  to  Virtue 142 

XIX.— The  Description  of  a  Person  Discontented 
with  the  Present  Government,  and  Apprehen- 
sive of  the  Loss  of  Our  Liberties        .        .        .149 

XX.— The  History  of  a  Philosophic  Vagabond,  Pur- 
suing Novelty,  but  Losing  Content       .  163 

XXI. — The  Short  Continuance  of  Friendship  among 
the  Vicious,  Which  is  Coeval  Onl5'  with  Mutual 
Satisfaction 188 

XXII.— Offences  are  Easily  Pardoned  Where  There 

is  Love  at  Bottom 201 

XXIII.— None  but  the  Guilty  can  be  Long  and  Com- 
pletely Miserable 208 

XXIV.— Fresh  Calamities 216 

XXV.— No  Situation,  However  Wretched  It  Seems, 

but  Has  Some  Sort  of  Comfort  Attending  It .  224 

XXVI.— A  Reformation  in  the  Gaol— To  Make  Laws 
Complete  They  should  Reward  as  Well  as 
Punish 233 


Contents 


XXVII.— The  Same  Subject  Continued        .        .        .242 

XXVIII.— Happiness  and  Misery  Rather  the  Result  of 
Prudence  than  of  Virtue  in  This  I^ife— Temporal 
Evils  or  Felicities  Being  Regarded  by  Heaven 
as  Things  Merely  in  Themselves  Trifling,  and 
Unworthy  Its  Care  in  the  Distribution     .        .  249 

XXIX.— The  Equal  Dealings  of  Providence  Demon- 
strated with  Regard  to  the  Happy  and  the 
Miserable  Here  Below— That  from  the  Nature 
of  Pleasure  and  Pain,  the  Wretched  must  be 
Repaid  the  Balance  of  Their  SuflFerings  in 
the  I^ife  Hereafter 266 

XXX.— Happier  Prospects  Begin  to  Appear— Eet  Us 
be  Inflexible,  and  Fortune  will  at  I^ast  Change 
in  Our  Favor 273 

XXXI.— Former  Benevolence  Now  Repaid  with  Un- 
expected Interest 2S6 

XXXII.— The  Conclusion 309 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  Wedding  Dress Frontispiece 

The  Vicar's  Dispute  with  Wilmot      .       .       .      ii 

The  Migration  Accident 23 

Flamborotjgh  and  the  Piper 29 

Concert  in  the  Arbor  and  Approach  of  Thorn- 
hill      33 

Haymaking.— BuRCHELL  and  Sophia     ...      41 
Dispute  between  Moses  and  Thornhill   .        .      47 

Dining  in  the  Hay-Field 61 

Too  Late  for  Church 75 

"Fudge!" 83 

Moses  Going  to  the  Fair 89 

The  Vicar  Showing  His  Horse      .       .       .       .103 
burchell's  pocket-book  found     .       .       .       .113 

Nearly  of  a  Size 121 

The  Elopement 137 

The  Vicar,  the  Stroller,  etc 157 

George  Bribing  the  Servant         .       .       .       .173 
Mr.  Crispe's  Office 177 


xii  Xist  of  irilu6tration6 

George  and  the  Cottagers i8i 

Olivia,  TnoRNHrLL,  etc 199 

The  Fire 203 

Olivia's  Misery 213 

The  Cattle  Driven  for  the  Rent       .       .       .221 

Attempt  to  Rescue 225 

The  Vicar  Paying  His  Footing      .       .       .       .229 

The  First  Exhortation    ......  237 

Reformation 243 

Abduction  of  Sophia 257 

Sermon  in  the  Cell 265 

Return  of  Sopbia        .......  275 

Conviction  of  Thornhill 303 

Compliments  at  the  Altar 311 


THE   VICAR    OF   WAKEFIELD 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Description  of  the  Family  of  "Wakefield,  in  Whicb 
a  Kindred  I,ikeness  Prevails,  as  Well  of  Minds  as  oi 
Persons. 


I  WAS  ever  of  opinion,  that  the  honest  man 
who  married  and  brought  up  a  large  fam- 
ily,  did  more  service  than  he  who  continued 
single  and  only  talked  of  population.  From 
this  motive  I  had  scarcely  taken  orders  a  year, 
before  I  began  to  think  seriously  of  matrimonyf 
and  chose  my  wife,  as  she  did  her  wedding- 
gown,  not  for  a  fine  glossy  surface,  but  such 
qualities  as  would  wear  well.  To  do  her  jus- 
tice, she  was  a  good-natured,  notable  woman  ; 
and  as  for  breeding,  there  were  few  country 
ladies  who  could  show  more.  She  could  read 
any  English  book  without  much  spelling  ;  but 
for  pickling,  preserving,  and  cookery  none 
could  excel  her.     She  prided  herself  also  upon 


Zbc  IDicar  of  TUaaketiclD 


being  an  excellent  contriver  in  housekeeping, 
though  I  never  could  find  that  we  grew  richer 
with  all  her  contrivances. 

However,  we  loved  each  other  tenderly,  and 
our  fondness  increased  as  we  grew  old.  There 
was,  in  fact,  nothing  that  could  make  us  angry 
with  the  world  or  each  other.  We  had  an  ele- 
gant house,  situated  in  a  fine  country,  and  a 
good  neighborhood.  The  year  was  spent  in 
moral  or  rural  amusements,  in  visiting  our  rich 
neighbors,  and  reliexdng  such  as  were  poor. 
We  had  no  revolutions  to  fear,  nor  fatigues  to 
undergo  ;  all  our  adventures  were  by  the  fire- 
side, and  all  our  migrations  from  the  blue  bed 
to  the  brown. 

As  we  lived  near  the  road,  we  often  had  the 
traveller  or  stranger  visit  us  to  taste  our  goose- 
berry wine,  for  which  we  had  great  reputation  ; 
and  I  profess,  with  the  veracity  of  an  historian, 
that  I  never  knew  one  of  them  to  find  fault 
with  it.  Our  cousins,  too,  even  to  the  fortieth 
remove,  all  remembered  their  affinity,  without 
any  help  from  the  Heralds'  Office,  and  came  very 
frequently  to  see  us.  Some  of  them  did  us  no 
great  honor  by  these  claims  of  kindred  ;  as  we 
had  the  blind,  the  maimed,  and  the  halt  amongst 
the  number.  However,  my  wife  always  insisted 
that  as  they  were  the  same  flesh  and  blood, 
they  should  sit  with  us  at  the  same  table.     So 


^be  Dicar  ot  makefielD 


that  if  we  had  not  very  rich,  we  generally  had 
very  happy  friends  about  us  ;  for  this  remark 
will  hold  good  through  life,  that  the  poorer  the 
guest,  the  better  pleased  he  ever  is  with  being 
treated  ;  and  as  some  men  gaze  with  admiration 
at  the  colors  of  a  tulip,  or  the  wing  of  a  butter- 
fly, s6  I  was  by  nature  an  admirer  of  happy 
human  faces.  However,  when  any  one  of  our 
relations  was  found  to  be  a  person  of  very  bad 
character,  a  troublesome  guest,  or  one  we  de- 
sired to  get  rid  of,  upon  his  leaving  my  house 
I  ever  took  care  to  lend  him  a  riding-coat,  or  a 
pair  of  boots,  or  sometimes  a  horse  of  small 
value,  and  I  always  had  the  satisfaction  of  find- 
ing he  never  came  back  to  return  them.  By 
this  the  house  was  cleared  of  such  as  we  did 
not  like  ;  but  never  was  the  family  of  Wake- 
field known  to  turn  the  traveller  or  the  poor 
dependent  out  of  doors. 

Thus  we  lived  several  yeais  in  a  state  of 
much  happiness,  not  but  that  we  sometimes 
had  those  little  rubs  which  Providence  sends  to 
enhance  the  value  of  its  favors.  My  orchard 
was  often  robbed  by  school-boys,  and  my  wife's 
custards  plundered  by  the  cats  or  the  children. 
The  'Squire  would  sometimes  fall  asleep  in  the 
most  pathetic  parts  of  my  sermon,  or  his  lady 
return  my  wife's  civilities  at  church  with  a 
mutilated  courtesy.      But  we  soon  got  over  the 


^be  Dicar  of  limaJ^cficlD 


uneasiness  caused  by  such,  accidents,  and  usually 
in  three  or  four  days  began  to  wonder  how  they 
vexed  us. 

My  children,  the  offspring  of  temperance,  as 
they  were  educated  without  softness,  so  they 
were  at  once  well  formed  and  healthy;  my 
sons  hardy  and  active,  my  daughters  beautiful 
and  blooming.  When  I  stood  in  the  midst  of 
the  little  circle,  which  promised  to  be  the  sup- 
port of  my  declining  age,  I  could  not  avoid  re- 
peating the  famous  story  of  Count  Abensberg, 
who,  in  Henry  the  Second's  progress  through 
Germany,  while  other  courtiers  came  with  their 
treasures,  brought  his  thirty-two  children,  and 
presented  them  to  his  sovereign  as  the  most 
valuable  offering  he  had  to  bestow.  In  this 
manner,  though  I  had  but  six,  I  considered 
them  as  a  very  valuable  present  made  to  my 
country,  and  consequently  looked  upon  it  as 
my  debtor.  Our  oldest  son  was  named  George, 
after  his  uncle,  who  left  us  ten  thousand  pounds. 
Our  second  child,  a  girl,  I  intended  to  call  after 
her  aunt  Grissel  ;  but  my  wife,  who  during  her 
pregnancy  had  been  reading  romances,  insisted 
upon  her  being  called  Olivia.  In  less  than  an- 
other year  we  had  another  daughter,  and  now  I 
was  determined  that  Grissel  should  be  her 
name ;  but  a  rich  relation  taking  a  fancy  to  stand 
godmother,  the  girl  was,  by  her  directions,  called 


Zbc  IDicar  of  umaftefielD 


Sophia,  so  that  we  had  two  romantic  names  in 
the  family  ;  but  I  solemnly  protest  I  had  no 
hand  in  it.  Moses  was  our  next,  and  after  an 
interval  of  twelve  years  we  had  two  sons  more. 

It  would  be  fruitless  to  deny  my  exultation 
when  I  saw  my  little  ones  about  me  ;  but  the 
vanity  and  the  satisfaction  of  my  wife  were  even 
greater  than  mine.  When  our  visitors  would 
say  :  "Well,  upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Primrose,  you 
have  the  finest  children  in  the  whole  country, ' ' 
"Ay,  neighbor,"  she  would  answer,  "they  are 
as  Heaven  made  them,  handsome  enough,  if 
they  be  good  enough  ;  for  handsome  is  that 
handsome  does."  And  then  she  would  bid  the 
girls  hold  up  their  heads,  who,  to  conceal  noth- 
ing, were  certainly  very  handsome.  Mere  out- 
side is  so  very  trifling  a  circumstance  with  me, 
that  I  should  scarcely  have  remembered  to 
mention  it  had  it  not  been  a  general  topic  of 
conversation  in  the  country.  Olivia,  now  about 
eighteen,  had  that  luxuriance  of  beauty  with 
which  painters  generally  draw  Hebe  —  open, 
sprightly,  and  commanding.  Sophia's  features 
were  not  so  striking  at  first,  but  often  did  more 
certain  execution  ;  for  they  were  soft,  modest, 
and  alluring.  The  one  vanquished  by  a  single 
blow,  the  other  by  efforts  successfully  repeated. 

The  temper  of  a  woman  is  generally  formed 
from  the  turn  of  her  features  ;  at  least  it  was  so 


Zbc  IDicar  of  WakeftelO 


with  my  daughters.  Olivia  wished  for  mariy 
lovers,  Sophia  to  secure  one.  Olivia  was  often 
afifected  with  too  great  a  desire  to  please. 
Sophia  even  repressed  excellence  from  her 
fears  to  offend.  The  one  entertained  me  with 
her  vivacity  when  I  was  gay,  the  other  with  her 
sense  when  I  was  serious.  But  these  quahties 
were  never  carried  to  excess  in  either,  and  I 
have  often  seen  them  exchange  characters  for  a 
whole  day  together.  A  suit  of  mourning  has 
transformed  my  coquette  into  a  prude,  and  a 
new  set  of  ribands  has  given  her  younger  sister 
more  than  natural  vivacity.  My  eldest  son 
George  was  bred  at  Oxford,  as  I  intended  him 
for  one  of  the  learned  professions.  My  sec- 
ond boy  Moses,  whom  I  designed  for  business, 
received  a  sort  of  miscellaneous  education  at 
home.  But  it  is  needless  to  attempt  describing 
the  particular  characters  of  young  people  that 
had  seen  but  ver>^  little  of  the  world.  In  short, 
a  family  likeness  prevailed  through  all ;  and, 
properly  speaking,  they  had  but  one  character, 
that  of  being  all  equally  generous,  credulous, 
simple,  and  inoffensive. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Family  Misfortunes — The  lyOss  of  Fortune  Only  Serves 
to  Increase  the  Pride  of  the  Worthy. 

THB  temporal  concerns  of  our  family  were 
chiefly  committed  to  my  wife's  manage- 
ment ;  as  to  the  spiritual,  I  took  them  entirely 
under  my  own  direction.  The  profits  of  my 
living,  which  amounted  to  but  thirty-five 
pounds  a  year,  I  made  over  to  the  orphans 
and  widows  of  the  clergy  of  our  diocese  ;  for 
having  a  fortune  of  my  own,  I  was  careless  of 
temporalities,  and  felt  a  secret  pleasure  in 
doing  my  duty  without  reward.  I  also  set  a 
resolution  of  keeping  no  curate,  and  of  being 
acquainted  with  every  man  in  the  parish,  ex- 
horting the  married  men  to  temperance,  and 
the  bachelors  to  matrimony  ;  so  that  in  a  few 
years  it  was  a  common  saying,  that  there  were 
three  strange  wants  at  Wakefield — a  parson 
wanting  pride,  young  men  wanting  wives,  and 
ale-houses  wanting  customers. 


^be  Dicar  of  'QClakcf!eI& 


Matrimony  was  always  one  of  mj  favorite 
topics,  and  I  wrote  several  sermons  to  prove  its 
happiness  ;  but  there  was  a  peculiar  tenet  which 
I  made  a  point  of  supporting  :  for  I  maintained 
with  Whiston,  that  it  was  unlawful  for  a  priest 
of  the  Church  of  England,  after  the  death  of 
his  first  wife,  to  take  a  second  ;  or,  to  express  it 
in  one  word,  I  valued  m3^self  upon  being  a  strict 
monogamist, 

I  was  early  initiated  into  this  important  dis- 
pute, on  which  so  many  laborious  volumes  have 
been  written.  I  published  some  tracts  upon 
the  subject  myself,  which,  as  they  never  sold,  I 
have  the  consolation  of  thinking  were  read 
only  by  the  happy  few.  Some  of  my  friends 
called  this  my  weak  side  ;  but  alas  !  they  had 
not,  like  me,  made  it  the  subject  of  long  con- 
templation. The  more  I  reflected  upon  it,  the 
more  important  it  appeared.  I  even  went  a 
step  beyond  Whiston  in  displaying  my  prin- 
ciples :  as  he  had  engraven  upon  his  wife's 
tomb  that  she  was  the  only  wife  of  William 
Whiston,  so  I  wrote  a  similar  epitaph  for  my 
wife,  though  still  living,  in  which  I  extolled  her 
prudence,  economy,  and  obedience,  till  death; 
and  having  got  it  copied  fair,  with  an  elegant 
frame,  it  was  placed  over  the  chimney-piece, 
where  it  answered  several  very  useful  purposes. 
It  admonished  my  wife  of  her  duty  to  me,  and 


Zbc  Dicar  of  MaftefielD 


my  fidelity  to  her  ;  it  inspired  her  with  a  pas- 
sion for  fame,  and  constantly  put  her  in  mind 
of  her  end. 

It  was  thus,  perhaps,  from  hearing  marriage 
so  often  recommended,  that  my  eldest  son, 
just  upon  leaving  college,  fixed  his  affections 
upon  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  clergyman, 
who  was  a  dignitary  in  the  Church,  and  in  cir- 
cumstances to  give  her  a  large  fortune  :  but  for- 
tune was  her  smallest  accomplishment.  Miss 
Arabella  Wilmot  was  allowed  by  all,  except 
my  two  daughters,  to  be  completely  pretty. 
Her  youth,  health,  and  innocence,  were  still 
heightened  by  a  complexion  so  transparent, 
and  such  a  happy  sensibility  of  look,  as  even 
age  could  not  gaze  on  with  indifference.  As 
Mr.  Wilmot  knew  that  I  could  make  a  very 
handsome  settlement  on  my  son,  he  was  not 
averse  to  the  match  ;  so  both  families  lived  to- 
gether in  all  that  harmony  which  generally  pre- 
cedes an  expected  alliance.  Being  convinced 
by  experience  that  the  days  of  courtship  are 
the  most  happy  of  our  lives,  I  was  willing 
enough  to  lengthen  the  period  ;  and  the  various 
amusements  which  the  young  couple  every  day 
shared  in  each  other's  company  seemed  to  in- 
crease their  passion.  We  w^ere  generally  awak- 
ened in  the  morning  by  music,  and  on  fine  days 
rode  a-hunting.     The  hours  between  breakfast 


^be  Dicar  of  maftetielD 


and  dinner  the  ladies  devoted  to  dress  and 
study  :  they  usually  read  a  page,  and  then  gazed 
at  themselves  in  the  glass,  which  even  philos- 
ophers might  own  often  presented  the  page  of 
greatest  beauty.  At  dinner  my  wife  took  the 
lead ;  for  as  she  always  insisted  upon  carving 
every  thing  herself,  it  being  her  mother's  way, 
she  gave  us  upon  these  occasions  the  history  of 
every  dish.  When  we  had  dined,  to  prevent 
the  ladies  leaving  us,  I  generally  ordered  the 
table  to  be  removed  ;  and  sometimes,  with  the 
music-master's  assistance,  the  girls  would  give 
us  a  very  agreeable  concert.  Walking  out, 
drinking  tea,  country-dances,  and  forfeits,  short- 
ened the  rest  of  the  day,  without  the  assistance 
of  cards,  as  I  hated  all  manner  of  gaming,  ex- 
cept backgammon,  at  which  my  old  friend  and 
I  sometimes  took  a  two-penny  hit.  Nor  can  I 
here  pass  over  an  ominous  circumstance  that 
happened  the  last  time  we  played  together  :  I 
only  wanted  to  fling  a  quatre,  and  yet  I  threw 
deuce-ace  five  times  running. 

Some  months  were  elapsed  in  this  manner, 
till  at  last  it  was  thought  convenient  to  fix  a  day 
for  the  nuptials  of  the  young  couple,  who  seemed 
earnestly  to  desire  it.  Dm-ing  the  preparations 
for  the  wedding,  I  need  not  describe  the  busy 
importance  of  my  wife,  nor  the  sly  looks  of  my 
daughters ;  in  fact,  my  attention  was  fixed  on 


Zbc  meat  of  limakefiel^ 


II 


another  object,  the  completing  a  tract  which  I 
intended  shortly  to  publish  in  defence  of  my  fa- 
vorite principle.  As  I  looked  upon  this  as  a 
masterpiece,  both  for  argument  and  style,  I 
could  not  in  the  pride  of  my  heart  avoid  show- 


THE  VTCAR  S  DISPUTE  V/ITH  WILMOT. 


ing  it  to  my  old  friend  Mr,  Wilmot,  as  I  made 
no  doubt  of  receiving  his  approbation  ;  but  not 
till  too  late  I  discovered  that  he  was  most  vio- 
lently attached  to  the  contrary  opinion,  and 
with  good  reason,  for  he  was  at  that  time  actu- 
ally courting  a  fourth  wife.     This,  as  may  be  ex- 


^be  \D(car  of  •Makefiel& 


pected,  produced  a  dispute  attended  with  some 
acrimony,  which  threatened  to  interrupt  our  in- 
tended alliance  ;  but  on  the  day  before  that  ap- 
pointed for  the  ceremony,  we  agreed  to  discuss 
the  subject  at  large. 

It  was  managed  with  proper  spirit  on  both 
sides  :  he  asserted  that  I  was  heterodox,  I  re- 
torted the  charge  ;  he  replied,  and  I  rejoined. 
In  the  meantime,  while  the  controversy  was 
hottest,  I  was  called  out  by  one  of  my  relations, 
who,  with  a  face  of  concern,  advised  me  to  give 
up  the  dispute,  at  least  till  my  son's  wedding 
was  over.  "How!"  cried  I,  "relinquish  the 
cause  of  truth,  and  let  him  be  a  husband,  al- 
ready driven  to  the  very  verge  of  absurdity ! 
You  might  as  well  advise  me  to  give  up  my  for- 
tune, as  my  argument."  "Your  fortune,"  re- 
turned my  friend,  "  I  am  'now  sorry  to  inform 
you,  is  almost  nothing.  The  merchant  in  town, 
in  whose  hands  your  money  was  lodged,  has 
gone  off,  to  avoid  a  statute  of  bankruptcy,  and 
is  thought  not  to  have  left  a  shilling  in  the 
pound.  I  was  unwilling  to  shock  you  or  the 
family  with  the  account  till  after  the  wedding  ; 
but  now  it  may  serve  to  moderate  your  warmth 
in  the  argument,  for  I  suppose  your  own  pru- 
dence will  enforce  the  necessity  of  dissembling, 
at  least  till  your  son  has  the  young  lady's  for- 
tune secure."     "Well,"  returned  I,   "if  what 


XLbc  IDicar  ot  1imaftef[el&  13 

you  tell  me  be  true,  and  if  I  am  to  be  a  beggar, 
it  shall  never  make  me  a  rascal,  or  induce  me 
to  disavow  my  principles.  I  '11  go  this  moment 
and  inform  the  company  of  my  circumstances  ; 
and  as  for  the  argument,  I  even  here  retract  my 
former  concessions  in  the  old  gentleman's  fa- 
vor, nor  will  I  allow  him  now  to  be  a  husband 
in  any  sense  of  the  expression." 

It  would  be  endless  to  describe  the  different 
sensations  of  both  families  when  I  divulged  the 
news  of  our  misfortune,  but  what  others  felt 
was  slight  to  what  the  lovers  appeared  to  en- 
dure. Mr.  Wilmot,  who  seemed  before  suffi- 
ciently inclined  to  break  off  the  match,  was  by 
this  blow  soon  determined  :  one  virtue  he  had 
in  perfection,  which  was  prudence,  too  often 
the  only  one  that  is  left  us  at  seventy-two. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A  Migration — The  Fortunate  Circumstances  of  our 
I,ives  are  Generally  Found  at  last  to  be  of  our  own 
Procuring. 

THE  only  hope  of  our  family  now  was  that 
the  report  of  our  misfortunes  might  be 
malicious  or  premature,  but  a  letter  from  my 
agent  in  town  soon  came  with  a  confirmation  of 
every  particular.  The  loss  of  fortune  to  myself 
alone  would  have  been  trifling ;  the  only  un- 
easiness I  felt  was  for  my  family,  who  were  to 
be  humble  without  an  education  to  render  them 
callous  to  contempt. 

Near  a  fortnight  had  passed  before  I  at- 
tempted to  restrain  their  affliction,  for  prema- 
ture consolation  is  but  the  remembrancer  of 
sorrow.  During  this  inten^al  my  thoughts  were 
employed  on  some  future  means  of  supporting 
them,  and  at  last  a  small  cure  of  fifteen  pounds 
a  year  was  offered  me  in  a  distant  neighbor- 
hood, where  I  could  still  enjoy  my  principles 
without  molestation.     With  this  proposal  I  joy- 


Zbc  Dicar  ot  "QClakefielD  15 

fully  closed,  having  determined  to  increase  my 
salary  by  managing  a  little  farm. 

Having  taken  this  resolution,  my  next  care 
was  to  get  together  the  wrecks  of  my  fortune  ; 
and,  all  debts  collected  and  paid,  out  of  four- 
teen thousand  pounds  we  had  but  four  hundred 
remaining.  My  chief  attention,  therefore,  was 
now  to  bring  down  the  pride  of  my  family  to 
their  circumstances,  for  I  well  knew  that  as- 
spiring  beggary  is  wretchedness  itself.  "You 
cannot  be  ignorant,  my  children,"  cried  I, 
"  that  no  prudence  of  ours  could  have  prevented 
our  late  misfortune,  but  prudence  may  do  much 
in  disappointing  its  effects.  We  are  now  poor, 
my  fondlings,  and  wisdom  bids  us  conform  to 
our  humble  situation.  Let  us,  then,  without 
repining,  give  up  those  splendors  with  which 
numbers  are  wretched,  and  seek  in  humbler 
circumstances  that  peace  with  which  all  may 
be  happy.  The  poor  live  pleasantly  without 
our  help  ;  why,  then,  should  we  not  learn  to 
live  without  theirs  ?  No,  my  children,  let  us 
from  this  moment  give  up  all  pretensions  to 
gentility  ;  we  have  still  enough  left  for  happi- 
ness if  we  are  wise,  and  let  us  draw  upon  con- 
tent for  the  deficiencies  of  fortune." 

As  my  eldest  son  was  bred  a  scholar,  I  deter- 
mined to  send  him  to  town,  where  his  abilities 
might  contribute  to  our  support  and  his  own. 


i6  XLbc  IDfcar  of  TRIlakcfielD 

The  separation  of  friends  and  families  is,  per- 
haps, one  of  the  most  distressful  circumstances 
attendant  on  penury.  The  day  soon  arrived  on 
which  we  were  to  disperse  for  the  first  time.  My 
son,  after  taking  leave  of  his  mother  and  the 
rest,  who  mingled  their  tears  with  their  kisses, 
came  to  ask  a  blessing  from  me.  This  I  gave 
him  from  my  heart,  and  which,  added  to  five 
guineas,  was  all  the  patrimony  I  had  now  to 
bestow.  "You  are  going,  my  boy,"  cried  I, 
"to  London  on  foot,  in  the  manner  Hooker, 
your  great  ancestor,  travelled  there  before  you. 
Take  from  me  the  same  horse  that  was  given 
him  by  the  good  bishop  Jewel,  this  stafi" ;  and 
take  this  book  too,  it  will  be  3^our  comfort  on 
the  way  :  these  two  lines  in  it  are  worth  a  mill- 
ion :  '  I  have  been  young,  and  now  am  old ; 
yet  never  saw  I  the  righteous  man  forsaken,  or 
his  seed  begging  their  bread. '  Let  this  be  your 
consolation  as  you  travel  on.  Go,  my  boy ; 
whatever  be  thy  fortune,  let  me  see  thee  once  a 
year ;  still  keep  a  good  heart,  and  farewell. ' ' 
As  he  was  possessed  of  integrity  and  honor,  I 
was  under  no  apprehensions  from  throwing 
him  naked  into  the  amphitheatre  of  life  ;  for 
J  knew  he  would  act  a  good  part,  whether  van- 
quished or  victorious. 

His  departtire  only  prepared  the  way  for  our 
owu,  which  arrived  a  few  days  afterwards.    The 


^be  Dicar  of  MakeflelD  17 

leaving  a  neighborhood  in  which  we  had  en- 
joyed so  many  hours  of  tranquillity  was  not 
without  a  tear,  which  scarcely  fortitude  itself 
could  suppress.  Besides,  a  journey  of  seventy 
miles,  to  a  family  that  had  hitherto  never  been 
above  ten  miles  from  home,  filled  us  with  ap- 
prehension ;  and  the  cries  of  the  poor,  who  fol- 
lowed us  for  some  miles,  contributed  to  increase 
it.  The  first  day's  journey  brought  us  in  safety 
within  thirty  miles  of  our  future  retreat,  and  we 
put  uj^or  the  night  at  an  obscure  inn  in  a  vil- 
lage by  the  way.  When  we  were  shown  a  room, 
I  desired  the  landlord,  in  my  usual  way,  to  let 
us  have  his  company,  with  which  he  complied, 
as  what  he  drank  would  increase  the  bill  next 
morning.  He  knew,  however,  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood to  which  I  was  removing,  particularly 
'Squire  Thornhill,  who  was  to  be  my  landlord, 
and  who  lived  within  a  few  miles  of  the  place. 
This  gentleman  he  described  as  one  who  desired 
to  know  little  more  of  the  world  than  its  pleas- 
ures, being  particularly  remarkable  for  his  at- 
tachment to  the  fair  sex.  He  observed  that  no 
virtue  was  able  to  resist  his  arts  and  assiduity, 
and  that  scarcely  a  farmer's  daughter  within  ten 
miles  round,  but  what  had  found  him  successful 
and  faithless.  Though  this  account  gave  me 
some  pain,  it  had  a  very  different  effect  upon 
my  daughters,  whose  features  seemed  to  bright- 


i8  trbe  \t)icar  ot  maftefielO 

en  with  the  expectation  of  an  approaching  tri- 
umph ;  nor  was  my  -^dfe  less  pleased  and 
confident  of  their  allurements  and  virtue. 
While  our  thoughts  were  thus  employed,  the 
hostess  entered  the  room  to  inform  her  husband 
that  the  strange  gentleman,  who  had  been  two 
days  in  the  house,  wanted  money,  and  could 
not  satisfy  them  for  his  reckoning.  ' '  Want 
money  ! ' '  replied  the  host,  ' '  that  must  be  im- 
possible ;  for  it  was  no  later  than  yesterday  he 
paid  three  guineas  to  our  beadle  to  spare  an  old 
broken  soldier  that  was  to  be  whipped  through 
the  town  for  dog-stealing. ' '  The  hostess,  how- 
ever, still  persisting  in  her  first  assertion,  he  was 
preparing  to  leave  the  room,  swearing  that  he 
would  be  satisfied  one  way  or  another,  when  I 
begged  the  landlord  would  introduce  me  to  a 
stranger  of  so  much  charity  as  he  described. 
With  this  he  complied,  showing  in  a  gentleman 
who  seemed  to  be  about  thirty,  dressed  in  clothes 
that  once  were  laced.  His  person  was  well 
formed,  and  his  face  marked  with  the  lines  of 
thinking.  He  had  something  short  and  dry  in 
his  address,  and  seemed  not  to  understand 
ceremony,  or  to  despise  it.  Upon  the  landlord's 
lea\dng  the  room,  I  could  not  avoid  expressing 
my  concern  to  the  stranger  at  seeing  a  gentle- 
man in  such  circumstances,  and  offered  him  my 
purse  to  satisfy  the  present  demand.     "  I  take 


zrbe  tDlcar  of  mat^cfielO  19 

it  with  all  my  heart,  sir,"  replied  he,  "and  am 
glad  that  a  late  oversight  in  giving  what  money 
I  had  about  me,  has  shown  me  that  there  are 
still  some  men  like  you.  I  must,  however,  pre- 
viously entreat  being  informed  of  the  name  and 
residence  of  my  benefactor,  in  order  to  repay 
him  as  soon  as  possible."  In  this  I  satisfied  him 
fully,  not  only  mentioning  my  name  and  late 
misfortunes,  but  the  place  to  which  I  was  going 
to  remove.  "This,"  cried  he,  "happens  still 
more  luckily  than  I  hoped  for,  as  I  am  going 
the  same  way  myself,  having  been  detained 
here  two  days  by  the  floods,  which  I  hope  by 
to-morrow  will  be  found  passable. ' '  I  testified 
the  pleasure  I  should  have  in  his  company,  and 
my  wife  and  daughters  joining  in  entreaty, 
he  was  prevailed  upon  to  stay  to  supper.  The 
stranger's  conversation,  which  was  at  once 
pleasing  and  instructive,  induced  me  to  wish 
for  a  continuance  of  it ;  but  it  was  now  high 
time  to  retire  and  take  refreshment  against  the 
fatigues  of  the  following  day. 

The  next  morning  we  all  set  forward  together ; 
my  family  on  horseback,  while  Mr.  Burchell 
our  new  companion,  walked  along  the  footpath 
by  the  road-side,  observing  with  a  smile,  that 
as  we  were  ill-mounted,  he  would  be  too  gener- 
ous to  attempt  to  leave  us  behind.  As  the  floods 
were  not  yet  subsided,  we  were  obliged  to  hire 


Cbe  Dicar  of  llClakeficlD 


a  guide,  who  trotted  on  before,  Mr.  Biirchell 
and  I  bringing  up  the  rear.  We  lightened  the 
fatigues  of  the  road  with  philosophical  disputes, 
which  he  seemed  to  understand  perfectly.  But 
what  surprised  me  most  was,  that  though  he 
was  a  money-borrower,  he  defended  his  opinions 
with  as  much  obstinacy  as  if  he  had  been  my 
patron.  He  now  and  then  also  informed  me  to 
whom  the  different  seats  belonged  that  lay  in 
our  view  as  we  travelled  the  road.  **That," 
cried  he,  pointing  to  a  very  magnificent  house 
which  stood  at  some  distance,  "  belongs  to  Mr. 
Thomhill,  a  young  gentleman  who  enjoys  a  large 
fortune,  though  entirely  dependent  on  the  will 
of  his  uncle,  Sir  William  Thornhill,  a  gentleman 
who,  content  with  a  little  himself,  permits  his 
nephew  to  enjoy  the  rest,  and  chiefly  resides  in 
town."  **  What !  "  cried  I,  "is  my  young  land- 
lord, then,  the  nephew  of  a  man  whose  \drtues, 
generosity,  and  singularities  are  so  universally 
known?  I  have  heard  Sir  William  Thornhill 
represented  as  one  of  the  most  generous,  yet 
whimsical  men  in  the  kingdom  ;  a  man  of  con- 
summate benevolence. "  "  Something,  perhaps, 
too  much  so,"  replied  Mr.  Burchell,  "at  least 
he  carried  benevolence  to  an  excess  when 
young ;  for  his  passions  were  then  strong,  and 
as  the}'  were  all  upon  the  side  of  virtue,  they  led 
it  up  to  a  romantic  extreme.     He  early  began 


Zbc  meat  of  WaKefifelC) 


to  aim  at  the  qualifications  of  the  soldier  and 
scholar;  was  soon  distinguished  in  the  army, 
and  had  some  reputation  among  men  of  learn- 
ing. Adulation  ever  follows  the  ambitious ;  for 
such  alone  receive  most  pleasure  from  flatterjo 
He  was  surrounded  with  crow^ds,  who  showed 
him  only  one  side  of  their  character  ;  so  that  he 
began  to  lose  a  regard  for  private  interest  in 
universal  sympathy.  He  loved  all  mankind ; 
for  fortune  prevented  him  from  knowing  that 
there  were  rascals.  Physicians  tell  us  of  a  dis- 
order, in  which  the  whole  body  is  so  exquisitely 
sensible,  that  the  slightest  touch  gives  pain : 
what  some  have  thus  suffered  in  their  persons, 
this  gentleman  felt  in  his  mind.  The  slightest 
distress,  whether  real  or  fictitious,  touched  him 
to  the  quick,  and  his  soul  labored  under  a 
sickly  sensibility  of  the  miseries  of  others. 
Thus  disposed  to  relieve,  it  will  be  easily  con- 
jectured, he  found  numbers  disposed  to  solicit  ; 
his  profusions  began  to  impair  his  fortune,  but 
not  his  good-nature  ;  that,  indeed,  was  seen  to 
increase  as  the  other  seemed  to  decay  ;  he  grew 
improvident  as  he  grew  poor ;  and  though  he 
talked  like  a  man  of  sense,  his  actions  were 
those  of  a  fool.  Still,  however,  being  sur- 
rounded with  importunity,  and  no  longer  able 
to  satisfy  every  request  that  was  made  him,  in- 
stead of  money  he  gave  promises.      They  were 


^be  IDicar  of  Tima?iefielD 


all  iie  liad  to  bestow,  and  he  had  not  resolution 
enough  to  give  any  man  pain  by  a  denial.  By 
this  he  drew  round  him  crowds  of  dependents 
whom  he  was  sure  to  disappoint,  yet  wished  to 
relieve.  These  hung  upon  him  for  a  time,  and 
left  him  with  merited  reproaches  and  contempt. 
But  in  proportion  as  he  became  contemptible  to 
others,  he  became  despicable  to  himself  His 
mind  had  leaned  upon  their  adulation,  and  that 
support  taken  away,  he  could  find  no  pleasure 
in  the  applause  of  his  heart,  which  he  had 
never  learnt  to  reverence.  The  world  now  be- 
gan to  wear  a  different  aspect ;  the  flattery  of 
his  friends  began  to  dwindle  into  simple  appro- 
bation. Approbation  soon  took  the  more  friend- 
ly form  of  advice,  and  ad\dce  when  rejected 
produced  their  reproaches.  He  now  therefore 
found  that  such  friends  as  benefits  had  gathered 
round  him,  were  little  estimable  ;  he  now  found 
that  a  man's  own  heart  must  be  ever  given  to 
gain  that  of  another.  I  now  found,  that — that 
— I  forget  what  I  was  going  to  obserA'^e ;  in  short, 
sir,  he  resolved  to  respect  himself,  and  laid 
down  a  plan  of  restoring  his  fallen  fortune. 
For  this  purpose,  in  his  own  whimsical  manner, 
he  travelled  through  Europe  on  foot,  and  now, 
though  he  has  scarcely  attained  the  age  of 
thirty,  his  circumstances  are  more  affluent  than 
ever.    At  present  his  bounties  are  more  rational 


trbe  IDicar  of  maftefielD 


23 


and  moderate  than  before ;  but  still  he  pre- 
serves the  character  of  a  humorist,  and  finds 
most  pleasure  in  eccentric  virtues. ' ' 

My  attention  was  so  much  taken  up  by  Mr. 
Burchell's  account,  that  I  scarcely  looked  for- 


~--X.^-^^i 


:^a\ 


-^^-.:^ 


THE  MIGRATION  ACCIDENT. 


ward  as  we  went  along,  till  we  were  alarmed  by 
the  cries  of  my  family ;  when  turning,  I  per- 
ceived my  youngest  daughter  in  the  midst  of  a 
rapid  stream,  thrown  from  her  horse,  and  strug- 
gling with  the  torrent.  She  had  sunk  twice,  nor 
jv^as  it  in  my  power  to  disengage  myself  in  time 


24  ^be  IDicar  of  1iaaf;ef[el& 

to  bring  her  relief.  My  sensations  were  even 
too  violent  to  permit  my  attempting  her  rescue  ; 
she  must  have  certainly  perished  had  not  my 
companion,  perceiving  her  danger,  instantly 
plunged  in  to  her  relief,  and,  with  some  diffi- 
culty, brought  her  in  safety  to  the  opposite 
shore.  By  taking  the  current  a  little  farther 
up,  the  rest  of  the  family  got  safely  over,  where 
we  had  an  opportunity  of  joining  our  acknowl- 
edgments to  hers.  Her  gratitude  may  be  more 
readily  imagined  than  described  ;  she  thanked 
her  deliverer  more  with  looks  than  words,  and 
continued  to  lean  upon  his  arm,  as  if  still  willing 
to  receive  assistance.  My  wife  also  hoped  one 
day  to  have  the  pleasure  of  returning  his  kind- 
ness at  her  own  house.  Thus,  after  we  were  re- 
freshed at  the  next  inn,  and  had  dined  together, 
as  Mr.  Burchell  was  going  to  a  diflferent  part  of 
the  country-,  he  took  leave  ;  and  we  pursued  our 
journey,  my  wife  obser\'ing,  as  we  went,  that 
she  liked  him  extremely,  and  protesting,  that 
if  he  had  birth  and  fortune  to  entitle  him  to 
match  into  such  a  family  as  ours,  she  knew  no 
man  she  would  sooner  fix  upon.  I  could  not 
but  smile  to  hear  her  talk  in  this  lofty  strain  ; 
but  I  was  never  much  displeased  with  ^''lose 
harmless  delusions  that  tend  to  make  us  more 
happy. 


•    CHAPTER  IV. 

A  Proof  That  Even  the  Humblest  Fortune  May  Grant 
Happiness,  Which  Depends  not  on  Circumstances 
but  Constitution. 

THB  place  of  our  retreat  was  in  a  little  neigh- 
borhood, consisting  of  farmers,  who  tilled 
their  own  grounds,  and  were  equal  strangers  to 
opulence  and  poverty.  As  they  had  almost  all 
the  conveniences  of  life  within  themselves,  they 
seldom  visited  towns  or  cities  in  search  of 
superfluities.  Remote  from  the  polite,  they 
still  retained  the  primeval  simplicity  of  man- 
ners ;  and  frugal  by  habit,  they  scarcely  knew 
that  temperance  was  a  virtue.  They  wrought 
with  cheerfulness  on  days  of  labor ;  but  ob- 
served festivals  as  intervals  of  idleness  and 
pleasure.  They  kept  up  the  Christmas  carol, 
sent  true-love  knots  on  Valentine  morning,  ate 
pancakes  on  Shrove-tide,  showed  their  wit  on 
the  first  of  April,  and  religiously  cracked  nuts 
on  Michaelmas-eve.  Being  apprised  of  our  ap- 
proach, the  whole  neighborhood  came  out  to 
meet  their  minister,  drest  in  their  finest  clothes, 
and  preceded  by  a  pipe  and  tabor  ;  a  feast  was 


26  trbe  Dfcar  of  maftetielO 

also  provided  for  our  reception,  at  which  we 
sat  cheerfully  down  ;  and  what  the  conversa- 
tion wanted  in  wit  was  made  up  in  laughter. 

Our  little  habitation  was  situated  at  the  foot 
of  a  sloping  hill,  sheltered  with  a  beautiful  un- 
derwood behind,  and  a  prattling  river  before : 
on  one  side  a  meadow,  on  the  other  a  green.  My 
farm  consisted  of  about  twenty  acres  of  excel- 
lent land,  I  having  given  a  hundred  pounds  for 
my  predecessor's  good-will.  Nothing  cotdd  ex- 
ceed the  neatness  of  my  little  enclosures ;  the 
elms  and  hedge-rows  appearing  with  inexpres- 
sible beauty.  My  house  consisted  of  but  one 
story,  and  was  covered  with  thatch,  which  gave 
it  an  air  of  great  snugness  ;  the  walls  on  the  in- 
side were  nicely  whitewashed,  and  my  daugh- 
ters undertook  to  adorn  them  with  pictures  of 
their  own  designing.  Though  the  same  room 
served  us  for  parlor  and  kitchen,  that  only 
made  it  the  warmer.  Besides,  as  it  was  kept 
with  the  utmost  neatness,  the  dishes,  plates, 
and  coppers,  being  well  scoured,  and  all  dis- 
posed in  bright  rows  on  the  shelves,  the  eye 
was  agreeably  relieved,  and  did  not  v,'ant  richer 
furniture.  There  were  three  other  apartments, 
one  for  my  wife  and  me,  another  for  our  two 
daughters  within  our  own,  and  the  third,  with 
two  beds,  for  the  rest  of  the  children. 

The  little  republic  to  which  I  gave  laws,  was 


^be  Dicar  of  limafieffelD  27 

regulated  in  the  following  manner  :  by  sunrise 
we  all  assembled  in  our  common  apartment ; 
the  fire  being  previously  kindled  by  the  servant. 
After  we  had  saluted  each  other  with  proper 
ceremony,  for  I  always  thought  fit  to  keep  up 
some  mechanical  forms  of  good-breeding,  with- 
out which  freedom  ever  destroys  friendship,  we 
all  bent  in  gratitude  to  that  Being  who  gave  us 
another  day.  This  duty  being  performed,  my 
son  and  I  went  to  pursue  our  usual  industry 
abroad,  while  my  wife  and  daughters  employed 
themselves  in  providing  breakfast,  which  was 
always  ready  at  a  certain  time.  I  allowed  half 
an  hour  for  this  meal,  and  an  hour  for  dinner  ; 
which  time  was  taken  up  in  innocent  mirth  be- 
tween my  wife  and  daughters,  and  in  philo- 
sophical arguments  between  my  son  and  me. 

As  we  rose  with  the  sun,  so  we  never  pursued 
our  labors  after  it  was  gone  down,  but  returned 
home  to  the  expecting  family  ;  where  smiling 
looks,  a  neat  hearth,  and  pleasant  fire  were 
prepared  for  our  reception.  Nor  were  we  with- 
out guests  ;  sometimes  farmer  Flamborough, 
our  talkative  neighbor,  and  often  the  blind 
piper,  would  pay  us  a  visit,  and  taste  our  goose- 
berry wine  ;  for  the  making  of  which  we  had  lost 
neither  the  receipt  nor  the  reputation.  These 
harmless  people  had  several  ways  of  being  good 
company  ;  while  one  played,  the  other  would 


28  XLbc  Dicar  of  mafiefiel& 

sing  some  soothing  ballad,  — Johnny  Arm- 
strong's Last  Good-night,  or  The  Cruelty  of 
Barbara  Allen.  The  night  was  concluded  in  the 
manner  we  began  the  morning,  my  youngest 
boys  being  appointed  to  read  the  lessons  of  the 
day,  and  he  that  read  loudest,  distinctest,  and 
best,  was  to  have  a  halfpenny  on  Sunday  to 
put  into  the  poor's  box. 

\Vhen  Sunda}'  came,  it  was  indeed  a  day  of 
finery,  which  all  my  sumptuary  edicts  could 
not  restrain.  How  well  soever  I  fancied  my 
lectures  against  pride  had  conquered  the  vanity 
of  my  daughters,  yet  I  found  them  still  secretly 
attached  to  all  their  former  finery  :  they  still 
loved  Idces,  ribands,  bugles,  and  catgut ;  my 
wife  herself  retained  a  passion  for  her  crimson 
paduasoy,  because  I  formerly  happened  to  say 
it  became  her. 

The  first  Sunday,  in  particular,  their  behav- 
ior served  to  mortify  me  :  I  had  desired  my 
girls  the  preceding  night  to  be  dressed  early  the 
next  day  ;  for  I  always  loved  to  be  at  church  a 
good  while  before  the  rest  of  the  congregation. 
They  punctually  obeyed  my  directions  ;  but 
when  we  were  to  assemble  in  the  morning  at 
breakfast,  down  came  my  wife  and  daughters 
dressed  out  in  all  their  former  splendor  :  their 
hair  plastered  up  with  pomatum,  their  faces 
patched  to  taste,  their  trains  bundled  up  in  a 


tTbe  \D(car  of  makefielO 


2Q 


heap  behind,  and  rustling  at  every  motion.  I 
could  not  help  smiling  at  their  vanity,  particu- 
larly that  of  my  wife,  from  whom  I  expected 
more  discretion.  In  this  exigence,  therefore, 
my  only  resource  was  to  order  my  son,  with  an 


FLAMBOROUGH  AND  THE  PIPER. 


important  air,  to  call  our  coach.  The  girls 
were  amazed  at  the  command  ;  but  I  repeated  it 
with  more  solemnity  than  before. — ^''Surely, 
my  dear,  you  jest,"  cried  my  wife  ;  ^  we  can 
walk  it  perfectly  well :  we  want  no  coach  to 


30  ^be  Dicar  of  xmatiefiel^ 

carry  us  now." — "You  mistake,  child,"  re- 
turned I,  "we  do  want  a  coach  ;  for  if  we  walk 
to  church  in  this  trim,  the  very  children  in  the 
parish  will  hoot  after  us." — "  Indeed,"  replied 
my  wife,  ' '  I  always  imagined  that  my  Charles 
was  fond  of  seeing  his  children  neat  and  hand- 
some about  him." — "You  may  be  as  neat  as 
you  please,"  interrupted  I,  "and  I  shall  love 
you  the  better  for  it  ;  but  all  this  is  not  neat- 
ness, but  fripper}^  These  rufflings,  and  pink- 
ings,  and  patchings  will  only  make  us  hated  by 
the  wives  of  all  our  neighbors.  No,  my  chil- 
dren," continued  I,  more  gravely,  "  those 
gowns  may  be  altered  into  something  of  a 
plainer  cut ;  for  finerj^  is  very  unbecoming  in 
us  who  want  the  means  of  decency.  I  do  not 
know  whether  such  flouncing  and  shredding  is 
becoming  even  in  the  rich,  if  we  consider,  upon 
a  moderate  calculation,  that  the  nakedness  of 
the  indigent  world  may  be  clothed  from  the 
trimmings  of  the  vain." 

This  remonstrance  had  the  proper  effect ;  they 
went  with  great  composure  that  very  instant  to 
change  their  dress,  and  the  next  day  I  had  the 
satisfaction  of  finding  my  daughters,  at  their 
own  request,  employed  in  cutting  up  their  trains 
into  Sunday  waistcoats  for  Dick  and  Bill, the  two 
little  ones,  and,  what  was  still  more  satisfactory, 
the  gowns  seemed  improved  by  this  curtailing. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  New  and  Great  Acquaintance  Introduced — What  we 
Place  Most  Hopes  upon  Generally  Proves  Most  Fatal. 

AT  a  small  distance  from  the  house  my  pre- 
decessor had  made  a  seat,  overshaded  by 
a  hedge  of  hawthorn  and  honeysuckle.  Here, 
when  the  weather  was  fine  and  our  labor  soon 
finished,  we  usually  sat  together,  to  enjoy  an 
extensive  landscape  in  the  calm  of  the  evening. 
Here,  too,  we  drank  tea,  which  now  was  be- 
come an  occasional  banquet,  and  as  we  had  it 
but  seldom,  it  diffused  a  new  joy,  the  prepara- 
tions for  it  being  made  with  no  small  share  of 
bustle  and  ceremony.  On  these  occasions  our 
two  little  ones  always  read  to  us,  and  they  were 
regularly  served  after  we  had  done.  Some- 
times, to  give  a  variety  to  our  amusements,  the 
girls  sang  to  the  guitar,  and  while  they  thus 
formed  a  little  concert,  my  wife  and  I  would 
stroll  down  the  sloping  field,  that  was  embel- 
lished with  bluebells  and  centaury,  talk  of  our 
children  with  rapture,  and  enjoy  the  breeze  that 
wafted  both  health  and  harmony. 


32  Zbc  Dicar  ot  TSIlaketitelD 

In  this  manner  we  began  to  find  that  every 
situation  in  life  might  bring  its  own  peculiar 
pleasures  :  every  morning  waked  us  to  a  repeti- 
tion of  toil  ;  but  the  evening  repaid  it  with 
vacant  hilarity. 

It  was  about  the  beginning  of  autumn,  on  a 
holiday,  for  I  kept  such  as  intervals  of  relaxa- 
tion from  labor,  that  I  had  drawn  out  my  family 
to  our  usual  place  of  amusement,  and  our 
young  musicians  began  their  usual  concert.  As 
we  were  thus  engaged  we  saw  a  stag  bound 
nimbly  by,  within  about  twenty  paces  of  where 
we  were  sitting,  and  by  its  panting  it  seemed 
pressed  by  the  hunters.  We  had  not  much 
time  to  reflect  upon  the  poor  animal's  distress, 
when  we  perceived  the  dogs  and  horsemen 
come  sweeping  along  at  some  distance  behind, 
and  making  the  very  path  it  had  taken.  I  was 
instantly  for  returning  in  with  my  family  ;  but 
either  curiosit}^  or  surprise,  or  some  more  hid- 
den motive,  held  my  wife  and  daughters  to 
their  seats.  The  huntsman  who  rode  foremost 
passed  us  with  great  swiftness,  followed  by  four 
or  five  persons  more,  who  seemed  in  great 
haste.  At  last  a  young  gentleman  of  a  more 
genteel  appearance  than  the  rest  came  forward, 
and  for  a  while  regarding  us,  instead  of  pur- 
suing the  chase,  stopped  short,  and  giving  his 
horse  to  a  servant  who  attended,  approached  us 


^be  meat  ot  Maftefiero 


33 


with  a  careless,  superior  air.  He  seemed  to 
want  no  introduction,  but  was  going  to  salute 
my  daughters  as  one  certain  of  a  kind  reception  ; 
but  they  had  early  learned  the  lesson  of  looking 
presumption  out  of  countenance.     Upon  which 


CONCERT  IN"  THE  ASBOR  AND  APPROACH  OF  THORNHIXL. 

he  let  us  know  his  name  was  Thornhill,  and 
that  he  was  owner  of  the  estate  that  lay  for 
some  extent  around  us.  He  again,  therefore, 
offered  to  salute  the  female  part  of  the  family  ; 
and  such  was  the  power  of  fortune  and  fine 
clothes  that  he  found  no  second  repulse.     As 


34  XTbe  meat  of  Ma?iet!elD 

his  address,  though  confident,  was  easy,  we 
soon  became  more  familiar,  and  perceiving  mu- 
sical instruments  lying  near,  he  begged  to  be 
favored  wdth  a  song.  As  I  did  not  approve  of 
such  disproportioned  acquaintances,  I  winked 
upon  my  daughters,  in  order  to  prevent  their 
compliance  ;  but  my  hint  was  counteracted  by 
one  from  their  mother,  so  that  with  a  cheerful 
air  they  gave  us  a  favorite  song  of  Dryden's. 
Mr.  Thornhill  seemed  highly  delighted  with 
their  performance  and  choice,  and  then  took  up 
the  guitar  himself  He  played  but  very  indif- 
ferently ;  however,  my  eldest  daughter  repaid 
his  former  applause  with  interest,  and  assured 
him  that  his  tones  were  louder  than  even  those 
of  her  master.  At  this  compliment  he  bowed, 
which  she  returned  with  a  courtesy.  He  praised 
her  taste,  and  she  commended  his  understand- 
ing :  an  age  could  not  have  made  them  better 
acquainted  ;  while  the  fond  mother,  too,  equal- 
ly happy,  insisted  upon  her  landlord's  stepping 
in  and  tasting  a  glass  of  her  gooseberry.  The 
whole  family  seemed  earnest  to  please  him  ; 
my  girls  attempted  to  entertain  him  with  topics 
they  thought  most  modern,  while  Moses,  on  the 
contrary,  gave  him  a  question  or  two  from  the 
ancients,  for  which  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
being  laughed  at.  My  little  ones  were  no  less 
busy,  and  fondly  stuck  close  to  the  stranger. 


Zbe  meat  ot  makefielD  35 

All  my  endeavors  could  scarcely  keep  their 
dirty  fingers  from  handling  and  tarnishing  the 
lace  on  his  clothes,  and  lifting  np  the  flaps  of 
his  pocket-holes  to  see  what  was  there.  At  the 
approach  of  evening  he  took  leave  ;  but  not  till 
he  had  requested  permission  to  renew  his  visit, 
which,  as  he  was  our  landlord,  we  most  readily 
agreed  to. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  my  wife  called  a 
council  on  the  conduct  of  the  day.  She  was  of 
opinion,  that  it  was  a  most  fortunate  hit ;  for 
she  had  known  even  stranger  things  at  last 
brought  to  bear.  She  hoped  again  to  see  the 
day  in  which  we  might  hold  up  our  heads  with 
the  best  of  them  ;  and  concluded,  she  protested 
she  could  see  no  reason  why  the  two  Miss 
Wrinkles  should  marry  great  fortunes  and  her 
children  get  none.  As  this  last  argument  was 
directed  to  me,  I  protested  I  could  see  no  reason 
for  it  neither,  nor  why  Mr.  Simkins  got  the  ten 
thousand  pound  prize  in  the  lottery,  and  we  sat 
down  with  a  blank.  "  I  protest,  Charles,"  cried 
my  wife,  "  this  is  the  way  you  always  damp  my 
girls  and  me  when  we  are  in  spirits.  Tell  me, 
Sophy,  my  dear,  what  do  you  think  of  our  new 
visitor?  Don't  you  think  he  seemed  to  be 
good-natured  ?  "  —  *'  Immensely  so,  indeed, 
mamma,"  replied  she.  "  I  think  he  has  a  great 
deal  to  say  upon  every  thing,  and  is  never  at  a 


36  trbe  Dicar  of  "CClat^etlelD 

loss ;  and  the  more  trifling  the  subject,  the 
more  he  has  to  say." — "Yes,"  cried  Olivia, 
**  he  is  well  enough  for  a  man  ;  but  for  my  part, 
I  don't  much  like  him,  he  is  so  extremely 
impudent  and  familiar ;  but  on  the  guitar  he  is 
shocking."  These  two  last  speeches  I  inter- 
preted by  contraries.  I  found  by  this  that 
Sophia  internally  despised  as  much  as  OHvia 
secretly  admired  him.  "  Whatever  may  be 
your  opinion  of  him,  my  children,"  cried  I, 
"to  confess  the  truth,  he  has  not  prepossessed 
me  in  his  favor.  Disproportioned  friendships 
ever  terminate  in  disgust ;  and  I  thought,  not- 
withstanding all  his  ease,  that  he  seemed  per- 
fectly sensible  of  the  distance  between  us.  Let 
us  keep  to  companions  of  our  own  rank.  There 
is  no  character  more  contemptible  than  a  man 
that  is  a  fortune-hunter  ;  and  I  can  see  no  reason 
why  fortune-hunting  women  should  not  be  con- 
temptible too.  Thus,  at  best,  we  shall  be  con- 
temptible if  his  views  be  honorable  ;  but  if  they 
be  otherwise  !  I  should  shudder  but  to  think  of 
that !  It  is  true  I  have  no  apprehensions  from 
the  conduct  of  my  children  ;  but  I  think  there 
are  some  from  his  character."  I  would  have 
proceeded,  but  for  the  interruption  of  a  servant 
from  the  'Squire,  who,  with  his  compliments, 
sent  a  side  of  venison,  and  a  promise  to  dine 
with  us  some  days  after.     This  well-timed  pres- 


^be  Dtcar  of  "QClaheflelD 


37 


ent  pleaded  more  powerfully  in  his  favor  than 
any  thing  I  had  to  say  could  obviate.  I  there- 
fore continued  silent,  satisfied  with  just  having 
pointed  out  danger,  and  leaving  it  to  their  own 
discretion  to  avoid  it.  That  virtue  which  re- 
quires to  be  ever  guarded,  is  scarcely  worth  the 
sentinel. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


The  Happiness  of  a  Country  Fireside. 


AS  we  carried  on  the  former  dispute  with 
some  degree  of  warmth,  iu  order  to  ac- 
commodate matters,  it  was  universally  agreed 
that  we  should  have  a  part  of  the  venison  for 
supper,  and  the  girls  undertook  the  task  with 
alacrity.  "I  am  sorry,"  cried  I,  "that  we  have 
no  neighbor  or  stranger  to  take  a  part  in  this 
good  cheer  :  feasts  of  this  kind  acquire  a  double 
relish  from  hospitality." — "Bless  me,"  cried 
my  wife,  "here  comes  our  good  friend,  Mr. 
Biirchell,  that  saved  our  Sophia,  and  that  ran 
you  down  fairly  in  the  argument." — "Confute 
me  in  argument,  child  !  "  cried  I.  "You  mis- 
take there,  my  dear.  I  beHeve  there  are  but 
few  that  can  do  that.  I  never  dispute  your 
abilities  at  making  a  goose-pie,  and  I  beg 
you  '11  leave  argument  to  me."  As  I  spoke, 
poor  Mr.  Burchell  entered  the  house,  and  was 
welcomed  by  the  family,  who  shook  him  heartily 


Zbc  IDlcar  of  1IClaftetfel&  39 

by  the  hand,  while  little  Dick  officiously  reached 
him  a  chair, 

I  was  pleased  with  the  poor  man's  friendship 
for  two  reasons  :  because  I  knew  that  he  wanted 
mine,  and  I  knew  him  to  be  friendly  as  far  as  he 
was  able.  He  was  known  in  our  neighborhood 
by  the  character  of  the  poor  gentleman  that 
would  do  no  good  when  he  was  young,  though 
he  was  not  yet  thirty.  He  would  at  intervals 
talk  with  great  good-sense ;  but  in  general  he 
was  fondest  of  the  company  of  children,  whom 
he  used  to  call  harmless  little  men.  He  was 
famous,  I  found,  for  singing  them  ballads  and 
telling  them  stories  ;  and  seldom  went  out  with- 
out something  in  his  pockets  for  them  ;  a  piece 
of  gingerbread  or  a  halfpenny  whistle.  He  gen- 
erally came  for  a  few  days  into  our  neighbor- 
hood once  a  year,  and  lived  upon  the  neigh- 
bors' hospitality.  He  sat  down  to  supper  among 
us,  and  my  wife  was  not  sparing  of  her  goose- 
berry wine.  The  tale  went  round  ;  he  sang  us 
old  songs,  and  gave  the  children  the  story  of 
The  Buck  of  Beverland,  with  the  history  of 
Patient  Grissel,  the  adventures  of  Catskin,  and 
then  Fair  Rosamond's  Bower.  Our  cock,  which 
always  crew  at  eleven,  now  told  us  it  was 
time  to  repose ;  but  an  unforeseen  difficulty 
started  about  lodging  the  stranger  ;  all  our  beds 
were  already  taken  up,  and  it  was  too  late  to 


40  tTbe  Dfcar  of  iKIlakefielD 

send  him  to  the  next  ale-house.  In  this  di- 
lemma, little  Dick  offered  him  his  part  of  the 
bed,  if  his  brother  Moses  would  let  him  lie  with 
him.  "  And  I,"  cried  Bill,  "will  give  Mr.  Bur- 
chell  my  part,  if  my  sisters  will  take  me  to 
theirs." — "  Well  done,  my  good  children,"  cried 
I  ;  '*  hospitality  is  one  of  the  first  Christian  du- 
ties. The  beast  retires  to  its  shelter,  and  the 
bird  flies  to  its  nest,  but  helpless  man  can  only 
find  refuge  from  his  fellow-creature.  The  great- 
est stranger  in  this  world,  was  He  that  came  to 
save  it.  He  never  had  a  house,  as  if  willing  to 
see  what  hospitality  was  left  remaining  amongst 
us.  Deborah,  my  dear,"  cried  I  to  my  wife, 
"  give  those  boys  a  lump  of  sugar  each  ;  and  let 
Dick's  be  the  largest,  because  he  spoke  first." 

In  the  morning  early  I  called  out  my  whole 
family  to  help  at  saving  an  after-growth  of  hay, 
and  our  guest  offering  his  assistance,  he  was  ac- 
cepted among  the  number.  Our  labors  went  on 
lightly  ;  we  turned  the  swath  to  the  wnnd.  I 
went  foremost,  and  the  rest  followed  in  due 
succession.  I  could  not  avoid,  however,  ob- 
serving the  assiduity  of  Mr.  Burchell  in  assist- 
ing my  daughter  Sophia  in  her  part  of  the  task. 
When  he  had  finished  his  own,  he  would  join  in 
hers,  and  enter  into  a  close  conversation  ;  but  I 
had  too  good  an  opinion  of  Sophia's  understand- 
ing, and  was  too  well  convinced  of  her  ambi- 


trbe  IDicar  of  TKHafteficID 


41 


tion,  to  be  under  any  uneasiness  from  a  man  of 
broken  fortune.  When  we  were  finished  for  the 
day,  Mr.  Burchell  was  invited  as  on  the  night 
before  :  but  he  refused,  as  he  was  to  lie  that 


HAYMAKING— BURCHELL  AND  SOPHIA. 


night  at  a  neighbor's,  to  whose  child  he  was 
carrying  a  whistle.  When  gone,  our  conversa- 
tion at  supper  turned  upon  our  late  unfortunate 
guest.  "What  a  strong  instance,"  said  I,  "is 
that  poor  man  of  the  miseries  attending  a  youth 


42  XLbc  Dfcar  ot  MaliefielD 

of  levity  and  extravagance  !  He  by  no  means 
wants  sense,  which  only  serves  to  aggravate 
his  former  folly.  Poor  forlorn  creature,  where 
are  now  the  revellers,  the  flatterers,  that  he 
could  once  inspire  and  command!  Gone,  per- 
haps, to  attend  the  bagnio  pander,  grown  rich  by 
his  extravagance.  They  once  praised  him,  and 
now  they  applaud  the  pander  ;  their  former  rap- 
tures at  his  wit  are  now  converted  into  sarcasms 
at  his  folly  :  he  is  poor,  and  perhaps  deser\-es 
poverty  :  for  he  has  neither  the  ambition  to 
be  independent,  nor  the  skill  to  be  useful." 
Prompted  perhaps  by  some  secret  reasons,  I 
delivered  this  observation  with  too  much  acri- 
mony, which  my  Sophia  gently  reproved. 
"Whatsoever  his  former  conduct  may  have 
been,  papa,  his  circumstances  should  exempt 
him  from  censure  now.  His  present  indigence 
is  a  sufficient  punishment  for  former  folly  ;  and 
I  have  heard  my  papa  himself  say,  that  we 
should  never  strike  one  unnecessary  blow  at  a 
victim  over  whom  Providence  holds  the  scourge 
of  its  resentment." — "You  are  right,  Sophy," 
cried  my  son  Moses,  "and  one  of  the  ancients 
finely  represents  so  malicious  a  conduct,  by  the 
attempts  of  a  rustic  to  flay  Marsyas,  whose  skin, 
the  fable  tells  us,  had  been  wholly  stripped  off" 
by  another.  Besides,  I  don't  know  if  this  poor 
man's  situation  be  so  bad  as  my  father  would 


ZTbe  Dicar  of  MakefielD  43 

represent  it.  We  are  not  to  judge  of  the  feel- 
ings of  others,  by  what  we  might  feel  if  in  their 
place.  However  dark  the  habitation  of  the 
mole  to  our  eyes,  yet  the  animal  itself  finds 
the  apartment  sufficiently  lightsome  ;  and,  to 
confess  a  truth,  this  man's  mind  seems  fitted  to 
his  station  ;  for  I  never  heard  any  one  more 
sprightly  than  he  was  to-day  when  he  conversed 
with  you."  This  was  said  without  the  least  de- 
sign ;  however,  it  excited  a  blush,  which  she 
strove  to  cover  by  an  affected  laugh  ;  assuring 
him,  that  she  scarcely  took  any  notice  of  what 
he  said  to  her  ;  but  that  she  believed  he  might 
once  have  been  a  very  fine  gentleman.  The 
readiness  which  she  undertook  to  vindicate  her- 
self, and  her  blushing,  were  symptoms  I  did 
not  internally  approve ;  but  I  repressed  my 
suspicions. 

As  we  expected  our  landlord  the  next  day,  my 
wife  went  to  make  the  venison  pasty.  Moses 
sat  reading,  while  I  taught  the  little  ones  ;  my 
daughters  seemed  equally  busy  with  the  rest ; 
and  I  observed  them  for  a  good  while  cooking 
something  over  the  fire.  I  at  first  supposed  they 
were  assisting  their  mother  ;  but  little  Dick  in- 
formed me  in  a  whisper,  that  they  were  making 
a  wash  for  the  face.  Washes  of  all  kinds  I  had 
a  natural  antipathy  to  ;  for  I  knew  that  in- 
stead of  mending  the  complexion  they  spoiled 


44  trbe  IDicaj  of  'Qdafeeftelb 

it.  I  therefore  approached  my  chair  by  sly  de- 
grees to  the  fire,  and  grasping  the  poker,  as  if 
it  wanted  mending,  seemingly  by  accident,  over- 
turned the  whole  composition,  and  it  was  too 
late  to  beorin  another. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  Town  Wit  Described — The  Dullest  Fellows  may  I,eam 
to  be  Comical  for  a  Night  or  Two. 

WHEN  the  morning  arrived  on  which  we 
were  to  entertain  our  young  landlord,  it 
may  be  easily  supposed  what  provisions  were 
exhausted  to  make  an  appearance.  It  may  also 
be  conjectured  that  my  wife  and  daughters  ex- 
panded their  gayest  plumage  upon  this  occasion. 
Mr.  Thornhill  came  with  a  couple  of  friends, 
his  chaplain  and  feeder.  The  servants,  who 
were  numerous,  he  politely  ordered  to  the  next 
ale-house ;  but  my  wife,  in  the  triumph  of 
her  heart,  insisted  on  entertaining  them  all ; 
for  which,  by  the  bye,  our  family  was  pinched 
for  three  weeks  after.  As  Mr.  Burchell  had 
hinted  to  us  the  day  before  that  he  was  making 
proposals  of  marriage  to  Miss  Wilmot,  my  son 
George's  former  mistress,  this  a  good  deal 
damped  the  heartiness  of  his  reception  ;  but 
accident,  in  some  measure,  relieved  our  embar- 
rassment, for  one  of  the  company  happening  to 
mention  her  name,  Mr.  Thornhill  observed  with 


46  XLhc  IDicar  of  MakefielD 

an  oatli  that  he  never  knew  any  thing  more  ab- 
surd than  calHng  such  a  fright  a  beauty.  "  For, 
strike  me  ugly!"  continued  he,  "if  I  r.hould 
not  find  as  much  pleasure  in  choosing  my  mis- 
tress by  the  information  of  a  lamp  under  the 
clock  at  St.  Dunstan's."  At  this  he  laughed, 
and  so  did  we  : — the  jests  of  the  rich  are  ever 
successful.  Olivia,  too,  could  not  avoid  whis- 
pering loud  enough  to  be  heard,  that  he  had  an 
infinite  fund  of  humor. 

After  dinner  I  began  with  my  usual  toast,  the 
Church.  For  this  I  was  thanked  by  the  chap- 
lain, as  he  said  the  Church  was  the  only  mistress 
of  his  affections.  "Come,  tell  us  honestly, 
Frank,"  said  the  'Squire,  with  his  usual  arch- 
ness, "suppose  the  Church,  your  present  mis- 
tress, dressed  in  lawn  sleeves,  on  one  hand,  and 
Miss  Sophia,  with  no  lawn  about  her,  on  the 
other,  which  would  you  be  for?  " — "For  both, 
to  be  sure,"  cried  the  chaplain. — "Right, 
Frank,"  cried  the  'Squire  ;  "  for  may  this  glass 
suffocate  me,  but  a  fine  girl  is  worth  all  the 
priestcraft  in  the  creation.  For  what  are  tithes 
and  tricks  but  an  imposition,  all  a  confounded 
imposture,  and  I  can  prove  it !  " — "I  wish  you 
would,"  cried  my  son  Moses  ;  "and  I  think," 
continued  he,  "  that  I  should  be  able  to  answer 
you." — "  Very  well,  sir,"  cried  the  'Squire,  who 
immediately  smoked  him,  and  winking  on  the 


Zbc  Dicar  of  Wal^etielD 


47 


rest  of  the  company,  to  prepare  iis  for  the  sport, 
' '  if  you  are  for  a  cool  argument  upon  that  sub- 
ject, I  am  ready  to  accept  the  challenge.  And 
first,  whether  are  you  for  managing  it  analogi- 
cally, or  dialogically  ?  " — "I  am  for  managing 
it  rationally,"  cried  Moses,  quite  happy  at  being 


DISPUTE  BETWEEN  MOSES  AND  THORKHILL. 


permitted  to  dispute. — "  Good  again,"  cried  the 
'Squire;  "and  firstly,  of  the  first.  I  hope 
you  '11  not  deny  that  whatever  is,  is.  If  you 
don't  grant  me  that  I  can  go  no  further." — 
' '  Why, ' '  returned  Moses,  ' '  I  think  I  may  grant 
that,  and  make  the  best  of  it." — "  I  hope  too," 
returned  the  other,  "  you  '11  grant  that  a  part  is 


48  ^be  Dicar  of  mafeeficlD 

less  than  the  whole." — "I  grant  that  too," 
cried  Moses  ;  "  it  is  but  just  and  reasonable." — 
"  I  hope,"  cried  the  'Squire,  *'  you  will  not  deny- 
that  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle  are  equal  to 
two  right  ones." — "Nothing  can  be  plainer," 
returned  t'  other,  and  looked  round  with  his 
usual  importance. — "  Very  well,"  cried  the 
'Squire,  speaking  very  quickly  ;  "  the  premises 
being  thus  settled,  I  proceed  to  observe  that  the 
concatenation  of  self-existence,  proceeding  in  a 
reciprocal  duplicate  ratio,  naturally  produces  a 
problematical  dialogism,  which  in  some  meas- 
ure proves  that  the  essence  of  spirituality  may 
be  referred  to  the  second  predicable." — "Hold, 
hold  !  "  cried  the  other,  "  I  deny  that.  Do  you 
think  I  can  thus  tamely  submit  to  such  hetero- 
dox doctrines? " — "  What !  "  replied  the  'Squire, 
as  if  in  a  passion,  "  not  submit !  Answer  me 
one  plain  question  :  Do  you  think  Aristotle 
right  when  he  says  that  relatives  are  related  ?  " 
— "  Undoubtedly,"  replied  the  other. — "  If  so, 
then,"  cried  the  'Squire,  "answer  me  directly 
to  what  I  propose :  Whether  do  you  judge  the 
analytical  investigation  of  the  first  part  of  my 
enthymem  deficient  secundum  quoad,  or  quoad 
minus  ?  and  give  me  your  reasons  :  give  me 
your  reasons,  I  say,  directly." — "I  protest!" 
cried  Moses.  "  I  don't  rightly  comprehend  the 
force  of  your  reasoning  ;  but  if  it  be  reduced  to 


^be  Dicar  ot  "UHat^efielt)  49 

one  simple  proposition,  I  fancy  it  may  then 
have  an  answer/' — "  O  sir!"  cried  the  'Squire, 
'*  I  am  your  most  humble  servant ;  I  find  you 
want  me  to  furnish  you  with  argument  and  in- 
tellects too.  No,  sir,  there  I  protest  you  are  too 
hard  for  me. ' '  This  effectually  raised  the  laugh 
against  poor  Moses,  who  sat  the  only  dismal 
figure  in  a  group  of  merry  faces  ;  nor  did  he 
offer  a  single  syllable  more  during  the  whole 
entertainment. 

But  though  all  this  gave  me  no  pleasure,  it 
had  a  very  different  effect  upon  Olivia,  who 
mistook  it  for  humor,  though  but  a  mere  act  of 
the  memory.  She  thought  him,  therefore,  a 
very  fine  gentleman,  and  such  as  consider  what 
powerful  ingredients  a  good  figure,  fine  clothes, 
and  fortune  are  in  that  character,  will  easily  for- 
give her.  Mr.  Thornhill,  notwithstanding  his 
real  ignorance,  talked  with  ease,  and  could  ex- 
patiate upon  the  common  topics  of  conversa- 
tion with  fluency.  It  is  not  surprising,  then, 
that  such  talents  should  win  the  affections  of  a 
girl  who  by  education  was  taught  to  value  an 
appearance  in  herself,  and  consequently  to  set  a 
value  upon  it  in  another. 

Upon  his  departure,  we  again  entered  into  a 
debate  upon  the  merits  of  our  young  landlord. 
As  he  directed  his  looks  and  conversation  to 
Olivia,  it  was  no  longer  doubted  but  that  she 


50  XLhc  Dicar  ot  T!Clafeefiel& 

was  the  object  that  induced  him  to  be  our  visit- 
or. Nor  did  she  seem  to  be  much  displeased  at 
the  innocent  raillery  of  her  brother  and  sister 
upon  this  occasion.  Even  Deborah  herself 
seemed  to  share  the  glory  of  the  day,  and  ex- 
ulted in  her  daughter's  victory  as  if  it  were  her 
own.  "  And  now,  my  dear,"  cried  she  to  me, 
"I  '11  fairly  own  that  it  was  I  that  instructed 
my  girls  to  encourage  our  landlord's  addresses. 
I  had  always  some  ambition,  and  you  now  see 
that  I  was  right ;  for  who  knows  how  this  may 
end?" — "Ay,  who  knows  that  indeed!"  an- 
swered I,  with  a  groan.  "  For  my  part,  I  don't 
much  like  it,  and  I  could  have  been  better 
pleased  with  one  that  was  poor  and  honest,  than 
this  fine  gentleman  with  his  fine  fortune  and 
infidelit}' ;  for  depend  on  't,  if  he  be  what  I  sus- 
pect him,  no  freethinker  shall  ever  have  a  child 
of  mine." 

"Sure,  father,"  cried  Moses,  "you  are  too 
severe  in  this  :  for  Heaven  will  never  arraign 
him  for  what  he  thinks,  but  for  what  he  does. 
Every  man  has  a  thousand  vicious  thoughts, 
which  arise  without  his  power  to  suppress. 
Thinking  freely  of  religion  may  be  involuntary 
with  this  gentleman  ;  so  that  allowing  his  senti- 
ments to  be  wrong,  yet  as  he  is  purely  passive 
in  his  assent,  he  is  no  more  to  be  blamed  for  his 
errors,  than  the  governor  of  a  city  without  walls 


Zbc  Vicat  of  malfteficlD  51 

for  tiie  shelter  he  is  obliged  to  afford  an  invad- 
ing enemy." 

"True,  my  son,"  cried  I;  "but  if  the  gover- 
nor invites  the  enemy  there,  he  is  justly  cul- 
pable. And  such  is  always  the  case  with  those 
who  embrace  error.  The  vice  does  not  lie  in 
assenting  to  the  proofs  they  see,  but  in  being 
blind  to  many  of  the  proofs  that  offer.  So  that, 
though  our  erroneous  opinions  be  involuntary 
when  formed,  3'et  as  we  have  been  wilfully  cor- 
rupt, or  very  negligent  in  forming  them,  we  de- 
serv^e  punishment  for  our  vice,  or  contempt  for 
our  folly." 

My  wife  now  kept  up  the  conversation,  though 
not  the  argument.  She  observed  that  several 
very  prudent  men  of  our  acquaintance  were 
freethinkers,  and  made  very  good  husbands  ; 
and  she  knew  some  sensible  girls  that  had  skill 
enough  to  make  converts  of  their  spouses. 
"And  who  knows,  my  dear,"  continued  she, 
* '  what  Olivia  may  be  able  to  do  ?  The  girl  has 
a  great  deal  to  say  upon  every  subject,  and  to 
my  knowledge  is  very  well  skilled  in  contro- 
versy. ' ' 

' '  Why,  my  dear,  what  controversy  can  she 
have  read  ?  "  cried  I.  "It  does  not  occur  to  me 
that  I  ever  put  such  books  into  her  hands  ;  you 
certainly  overrate  her  merit." 

"Indeed,  papa,"  replied  Olivia,    "she   does 


52  ^be  Dicar  ot  WakcfielD 

not.  I  have  read  a  great  deal  of  controversy.  I 
have  read  the  disputes  between  Thwackum  and 
Square,  the  controversy  between  Robinson  Cru- 
soe and  Friday  the  savage,  and  I  am  now  em- 
ployed in  reading  the  controversy  in  *  Religious 
Courtship.'  " 

"Very  well,"  cried  I,  "that  's  a  good  girl ;  I 
find  you  are  perfectly  qualified  for  making  con- 
verts, and  so  go  help  j^our  mother  to  make  the 
gooseberry-pie. ' ' 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


An  Amour  Which  Promises  Little  Good  Fortune;  yet 
may  be  Productive  of  Much. 

THE  next  morning  we  were  again  visited  by 
Mr.  Burchell,  though  I  began,  for  certain 
reasons,  to  be  displeased  with  the  frequency 
of  his  return  ;  but  I  could  not  refuse  him  my 
company  and  fireside.  It  is  true  his  labor  more 
than  requited  his  entertainment,  for  he  wrought 
among  us  with  vigor,  and  either  in  the  meadow 
or  at  the  hay-rick  put  himself  foremost.  Be- 
sides, he  had  always  something  amusing  to  say 
that  lessened  our  toil,  and  was  at  once  so  out  of 
the  way,  and  yet  so  sensible,  that  I  loved, 
laughed  at,  and  pitied  him.  My  only  dislike 
arose  from  an  attachment  he  discovered  to  my 
daughter.  He  would,  in  a  jesting  manner,  call 
her  his  little  mistress,  and  when  he  bought  each 
of  the  girls  a  set  of  ribands,  hers  was  the  finest. 
I  knew  not  how,  but  he  every  day  seemed  to  be- 
come more  amiable,  his  wit  to  improve,  and  his 
simplicity  to  assume  the  superior  airs  of  wisdom. 


54  ^be  meat  of  MaFiefielJ) 

Our  family  dined  in  the  field,  and  we  sat,  or 
rather  reclined,  round  a  temperate  repast,  our 
cloth  spread  upon  the  hay,  while  Mr.  Burchell 
gave  cheerfulness  to  the  feast.  To  heighten 
our  satisfaction,  two  blackbirds  answered  each 
other  from  opposite  hedges,  the  familiar  red- 
breast came  and  pecked  the  crumbs  from  our 
hands,  and  every  sound  seemed  but  the  echo  of 
tranquillity.  "I  never  sit  thus,"  said  Sophia, 
"but  I  think  of  the  two  lovers  so  sweetly  de- 
scribed by  Mr.  Gay,  who  were  struck  dead  in 
each  other's  arms.  There  is  something  so  pa- 
thetic in  the  description,  that  I  have  read  it  a 
hundred  times  with  new  rapture." — "In  my 
opinion,"  cried  my  son,  "the  finest  strokes  in 
that  description  are  much  below  those  in  the 
'  Acis  and  Galatea '  of  Ovid.  The  Roman  poet 
understands  the  use  of  contrast  better,  and 
upon  that  figure  artfully  managed,  all  strength 
in  the  pathetic  depends." — "  It  is  remarkable," 
cried  Mr.  Burchell,  "  that  both  the  poets  you 
mention  have  equally  contributed  to  introduce 
a  false  taste  into  their  respective  countries,  by 
loading  all  their  lines  with  epithet.  Men  of  lit- 
tle genius  found  them  most  easily  imitated  in 
their  defects,  and  Knglish  poetry,  like  that  in 
the  later  empire  of  Rome,  is  nothing  at  present 
but  a  combination  of  luxuriant  images,  without 
plot  or  connection  ;  a  string  of  epithets  that  im- 


XLbc  tDicar  of  MalftefielD  55 


prove  the  sound,  without  carrying  on  the  sense. 
But  perhaps,  madam,  while  I  thus  reprehend 
others,  you  '11  think  it  just  that  I  should  give 
them  an  opportunity  to  retaliate,  and  indeed  I 
have  made  this  remark  only  to  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  introducing  to  the  company  a  ballad, 
which,  whatever  be  its  other  defects,  is,  I  think, 
at  least  free  from  those  I  have  mentioned." 

A  BAI.I,AD. 

"  Turn,  gentle  Hermit  of  the  Dale, 

And  guide  my  lonely  way, 
To  where  yon  taper  cheers  the  vale 

With  hospitable  ray. 

"  For  here  forlorn  and  lost  I  tread, 

With  fainting  steps  and  slow  ; 
Where  wilds,  immeasurably  spread, 

Seem  length'ning  as  I  go." 

"  Forbear,  my  son,"  the  Hermit  cries, 
"  To  tempt  the  dangerous  gloom  ; 

For  yonder  faithless  phantom  flies 
To  lure  thee  to  thy  doom. 

"  Here  to  the  houseless  child  of  want 

My  door  is  open  still  ; 
And  though  my  portion  is  but  scant, 

I  give  it  with  good-will. 

"  Then  turn  to-night,  and  freely  share 

Whate'er  my  cell  bestows  ; 
My  rushy  couch  and  frugal  fare, 

My  blessing  and  repose. 


56  (Tbe  Dicar  of  Maftcf!el& 

"  No  flocks  that  range  the  valley  free, 

To  slaughter  I  condemn  ; 
Taught  by  that  Power  that  pities  me, 

I  learn  to  pity  them  : 

"  But  from  the  mountain's  grassy  side, 

A  guiltless  feast  I  bring  ; 
A  scrip  with  herbs  and  fruit  supplied, 

And  water  from  the  spring. 

"  Then,  pilgrim,  turn,  thy  cares  forego 
All  earth-born  cares  are  wrong ; 

Man  wants  but  little  here  below. 
Nor  wants  that  little  long." 

Soft  as  the  dew  from  Heav'n  descends. 

His  gentle  accents  fell ; 
The  modest  stranger  lowly  bends. 

And  follows  to  the  cell. 

Far  in  a  wilderness  obscure. 

The  lonely  mansion  lay  ; 
A  refuge  to  the  neighb'ring  poor, 

And  strangers  led  astray. 

No  stores  beneath  its  humble  thatch 

Requir'd  a  master's  care  ; 
The  wicket,  op'ning  with  a  latch, 

Receiv'd  the  harmless  pair. 

And  now,  when  busy  crowds  retire 
To  take  their  ev'ning  rest ; 

The  Hermit  trimm'd  his  little  fire, 
And  cheer'd  his  pensive  guest ; 

And  spread  his  vegetable  store, 
And  gayly  press'd  and  smil'd  ; 

And  skill 'd  in  legendary  lore, 
The  ling'ring  hours  beguiled. 


Zbc  Dicar  of  WaftcfielD  57 

Around,  in  sympathetic  mirth. 

Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries, 
The  cricket  chirrups  in  the  hearth, 

The  crackling  faggot  flies. 

But  nothing  could  a  charm  impart 

To  soothe  the  stranger's  woe  ; 
For  grief  was  heavy  at  his  heart, 

And  tears  began  to  flow. 

His  rising  cares  the  Hermit  spied, 

"With  answ'ring  care  opprest  : 
"  And  whence,  unhappy  youth,"  he  cried, 

"  The  sorrows  of  thy  breast? 

"  From  better  habitations  spum'd, 

Reluctant  dost  thou  rove  ? 
Or  grieve  for  friendship  unretum'd, 

Or  unregarded  love  ? 

"  Alas  !  the  joys  that  fortune  brings 

Are  trifling,  and  decay  ; 
And  those  who  prize  the  paltry  things, 

More  trifling  still  than  they. 

"  And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep  ; 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame, 

But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep  ? 

"  And  love  is  still  an  emptier  sound, 

The  modern  fair  one's  jest : 
On  earth  unseen,  or  only  found 

To  warm  the  turtle's  nest. 

"  For  shame,  fond  youth,  thy  sorrows  hush. 
And  spurn  the  sex,"  he  said  : 


58  Zbe  Dicar  of  maheficl^ 

But  while  he  spoke,  a  rising  blush 
His  love-lorn  guest  betray'd. 

Surprised  he  sees  new  beauties  rise, 
Swift  mantling  to  the  view ; 

Ivike  colors  o'er  the  morning  skies, 
As  bright,  as  transient  too. 

The  bashful  look,  the  rising  breast, 

Alternate  spread  alarms ; 
The  lovely  stranger  stands  coufest 

A  maid  in  all  her  charms. 

"  And  ah  !  forgive  a  stranger  rude, 
A  wretch  forlorn  !  "  she  cried  ; 

"  Whose  feet  unhallow'd  thus  intrude 
Where  Heaven  and  you  reside. 

"  But  let  a  maid  thy  pity  share, 
Whom  love  has  taught  to  stray  ; 

Who  seeks  for  rest,  but  finds  despair 
Companion  of  her  way. 

"  My  father  liv'd  beside  the  Tyne, 

A  wealthy  lord  was  he  ; 
And  all  his  wealth  was  mark'd  as  mine, 

He  had  but  only  me. 

"  To  win  me  from  his  tender  arms, 
Unnumber'd  suitors  came  ; 

Who  praised  me  for  imputed  charms, 
And  felt  or  feign'd  a  flame. 

"  Each  hour  a  mercenary  crowd 
With  richest  proffers  strove  ; 

Among  the  rest  young  Edwin  bow'd. 
But  never  talk'd  of  love. 


the  \t)(car  ot  makefielD  59 

"  In  humble,  simplest  habit  clad, 

No  wealth  nor  power  had  he  ; 
Wisdom  and  worth  were  all  he  had, 

But  these  were  all  to  me. 

"  And  when,  beside  me  in  the  dale. 

He  caroU'd  lays  of  love, 
His  breath  lent  fragrance  to  the  gale, 

And  music  to  the  grove. 

"  The  blossom  opening  to  the  day, 

The  dews  of  Heav'n  refined, 
Could  nought  of  purity  display 

To  emulate  his  mind. 

"  The  dew,  the  blossom  on  the  tree. 

With  charms  inconstant  shine  ; 
Their  charms  were  his,  but  woe  to  me  1 

Their  constancy  was  mice. 

"  For  still  I  tried  each  fickle  art, 

Importunate  and  vain  ; 
And  while  his  passion  touch 'd  my  heart, 

I  triumph 'd  in  his  pain. 

"  Till  quite  dejected  with  my  scorn. 

He  left  me  to  my  pride  ; 
And  sought  a  solitude  forlorn. 

In  secret  where  he  died. 

"  But  mine  the  sorrow,  mine  the  fault, 

And  well  my  life  shall  pay  ; 
I  '11  seek  the  solitude  he  sought. 

And  stretch  me  where  he  lay. 

"  And  there  forlorn  despairing  hid, 
I  '11  lay  me  down  and  die ; 


6o  ^be  t)icar  of  *Qmakefiel& 

'T  was  so  for  me  that  Bdwin  did, 
And  so  for  him  will  I." 

"  Forbid  it,  Heav'n  !  "  the  Hermit  cried, 
And  clasp'd  her  to  his  breast ; 
The  wond'ring  fair  one  tum'd  to  chide,— 
'T  was  Edwin's  self  that  prest, 

"  Turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear, 

My  charmer,  turn  to  see 
Thy  own,  thy  long-lost  Edwin  here, 

Restor'd  to  love  and  thee. 

"  Thus  let  me  hold  thee  to  my  heart, 

And  ev'ry  care  resign  ; 
And  shall  we  never,  never  part, 

My  life, — my  all  that  's  mine  ? 

"  No,  never,  from  this  hour  to  part. 

We  '11  live  and  love  so  true  ; 
The  sigh  that  rends  thy  constant  heart 

Shall  break  thy  Edwin's  too." 

While  this  ballad  was  reading,  Sophia  seemed 
to  mix  an  air  of  tenderness  with  her  approba- 
tion. But  our  tranquillity  was  soon  disturbed 
by  the  report  of  a  gun  just  by  us,  and  immedi- 
ately after  a  man  was  seen  bursting  through  the 
hedge,  to  take  up  the  game  he  had  killed.  This 
sportsman  was  the  'Squire's  chaplain,  who  had 
shot  one  of  the  blackbirds  that  so  agreeably 
entertained  us.  So  loud  a  report,  and  so  near, 
startled  my  daughters  ;  and  I  could  perceive 
that  Sophia,  in  the  fright,  had  thrown  herself 


XLhc  \Dicar  of  Makefielt) 


6i 


into  Mr.  Burchell's  arms  for  protection.  The 
gentleman  came  up,  and  asked  pardon  for 
having  disturbed  us,  affirming  that  he  was 
ignorant  of  our  being  so  near.     He  therefore 


^^?*L.-**^S^^"^V 


DINING   IN  THE  HAY-FIELD. 


sat  down  by  my  youngest  daughter,  and,  sports- 
man-like, offered  her  what  he  had  killed  that 
morning.  She  was  going  to  refuse  ;  but  a 
private  look  from  her  mother  soon  induced  her 


62  XLhc  \Dicar  ot  maftefielD 

to  correct  the  mistake,  and  accept  his  present, 
though  with  some  reluctance.  My  wife,  as 
usual,  discovered  her  pride  in  a  whisper,  ob- 
ser\'ing,  that  Sophy  had  made  a  conquest  of  the 
chaplain,  as  well  as  her  sister  had  of  the  'Squire. 
I  suspected,  however,  with  more  probability, 
that  her  affections  were  placed  upon  a  different 
object.  The  chaplain's  errand  v/as  to  inform 
us  that  Mr.  Thorn  hill  had  provided  music  and 
refreshments,  and  intended  that  night  giving 
the  young  ladies  a  ball  by  moonlight,  on  the 
grass-plot  before  our  door.  "  Nor  can  I  deny," 
continued  he,  "  but  I  have  an  interest  in  being 
first  to  deliver  this  message,  as  I  expect  for  my 
reward  to  be  honored  with  Miss  Sophy's  hand 
as  a  partner. ' '  To  this  my  girl  replied,  that  she 
should  have  no  objection,  if  she  could  do  it  with 
honor.  "But  here,"  continued  she,  "is  a  gentle- 
man," looking  at  Mr.  Bujrchell,  "  who  has  been 
my  companion  in  the  task  for  the  day,  and  it  is 
fit  he  should  share  in  its  amusements."  Mr. 
Burchell  returned  her  a  compliment  for  her  in- 
tentions ;  but  resigned  her  up  to  the  chaplain, 
adding  that  he  was  to  go  that  night  five  miles, 
being  invited  to  a  han-est  supper.  His  refusal 
appeared  to  me  a  little  extraordinary,  nor  could 
I  conceive  how  so  sensible  a  girl  as  my  young- 
est, could  thus  prefer  a  man  of  broken  fortunes 
to  one  whose  expectations  were  much  greater. 


Zbc  tDicar  of  makefielO 


63 


But  as  men  are  most  capable  of  distinguishing 
merit  in  women,  so  the  ladies  often  form  the 
truest  judgments  of  us.  The  two  sexes  seem 
placed  as  spies  upon  each  other,  and  are  fur- 
nished with  different  abilities,  adapted  for  mu- 
tual inspection. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Two  Ladies  of  Great  Distinction  Introduced— Superior 
Finer\-  Ever  Seems  to  Confer  Superior  Breeding. 


MR.  BURCHELIv  had  scarcely  taken  leave, 
and  Sophia  consented  to  dance  with  the 
chaplain,  when  my  little  ones  came  running 
out  to  tell  us  that  the  'Squire  was  come  with 
a  crowd  of  company.  Upon  our  return,  we 
found  our  landlord,  with  a  couple  of  under- 
gentlemen  and  two  young  ladies  richly  dressed, 
whom  he  introduced  as  women  of  very  great 
distinction  and  fashion  from  town.  We  hap- 
pened not  to  have  chairs  enough  for  the  whole 
company  ;  but  Mr.  Thornhill  immediately  pro- 
posed that  every  gentleman  should  sit  in  a 
lady's  lap.  This  I  positively  objected  to,  not- 
withstanding a  look  of  disapprobation  from  my 
wife.  Moses  was  therefore  sent  to  borrow  a 
couple  of  chairs  ;  and  as  we  were  in  want  of 
ladies  to  make  up  a  set  at  country-dances,  the 
two  gentlemen  went  with  him  in  quest   of  a 


Zbc  IDicar  ot  limahetielO  65 

couple  of  partners.  Chairs  and  partners  were 
soon  provided.  The  gentlemen  returned  with 
my  neighbor  Flamborough's  rosy  daughters, 
flaunting  with  red  topknots.  But  an  unlucky 
circumstance  was  not  adverted  to  ;  though  the 
Miss  Flamboroughs  were  reckoned  the  very 
best  dancers  in  the  parish,  and  understood  the 
jig  and  the  round-about  to  perfection,  yet  they 
were  totally  unacquainted  with  country-dances. 
This  at  first  discomposed  us  :  however,  after  a 
little  shoving  and  dragging,  they  at  last  went 
merrily  on.  Our  music  consisted  of  two  fiddles, 
with  a  pipe  and  tabor.  The  moon  shone  bright. 
Mr.  Thornhill  and  my  eldest  daughter  led  up 
the  ball,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  spectators ; 
for  the  neighbors  hearing  what  was  going  for- 
ward, came  flocking  about  us.  My  girl  move^ 
with  so  much  grace  and  vivacity,  that  my  wife 
could  not  avoid  discovering  the  pride  of  her 
heart,  by  assuring  me  that  though  the  little 
chit  did  it  so  cleverly,  all  the  steps  were  stolen 
from  herself  The  ladies  of  the  town  strove 
hard  to  be  equally  easy,  but  without  success. 
They  swam,  sprawled,  languished,  and  frisked  ; 
but  all  would  not  do  ;  the  gazers  indeed  owned 
that  it  was  fine  ;  but  neighbor  Flamborough 
observed  that  Miss  I/ivy's  feet  seemed  as  pat  to 
the  music  as  its  echo.  After  the  dance  had 
continued  about  an  hour,  the  two  ladies,  who 


66  ^be  Dicar  of  maftefielO 

were  apprehensive  of  catching  cold,  moved  to 
break  up  the  ball.  One  of  them,  I  thought,  ex- 
pressed her  sentiments  upon  this  occasion  in  a 
very  coarse  manner,  when  she  obsers'ed  that, 
by  the  "  living  jingo,  she  w^as  all  of  a  muck  of, 
sweat."  Upon  our  return  to  the  house,  we  found 
a  very  elegant  cold  supper,  which  Mr.  Thornhill 
had  ordered  to  be  brought  with  him.  The 
conversation  at  this  time  was  more  reserved 
than  before.  The  two  ladies  threw  my  girls 
quite  into  the  shade  ;  for  they  would  talk  of 
nothing  but  high  life,  and  high-lived  company  ; 
with  other  fashionable  topics,  such  as  pictures, 
taste,  Shakespeare,  and  the  musical  glasses. 
'T  is  true,  they  once  or  twice  mortified  us  sensi- 
bly by  slipping  out  an  oath  ;  but  that  appeared 
to  me  as  the  surest  symptom  of  their  distinction 
(though  I  am  since  informed  that  swearing  is 
perfectly  unfashionable).  Their  finery,  how- 
ever, threw  a  veil  over  any  grossness  in  their 
conversation.  My  daughters  seemed  to  regard 
their  superior  accomplishments  with  en\'y  ;  and 
what  appeared  amiss  was  ascribed  to  tip-top 
quality  breeding.  But  the  condescension  of  the 
ladies  was  still  superior  to  their  other  accom- 
plishments. One  of  them  observed  that  were 
Miss  Olivia  to  see  a  little  more  of  the  world,  it 
would  greatly  improve  her  :  to  which  the  other 
added  that  a  single  winter  in  town  would  make 


XLbc  Dicar  ot  'MaUnclt)  67 

her  little  Sophia  quite  another  thing.  My  wife 
warmly  assented  to  both  ;  adding  that  there  was 
nothing  she  more  ardently  wished  than  to  give 
her  girls  a  single  winter's  polishing.  To  this  I 
could  not  help  replying  that  their  breeding  was 
already  superior  to  their  fortune ;  and  that 
greater  refinement  would  only  serve  to  make 
their  poverty  ridiculous,  and  give  them  a  taste 
for  pleasures  they  had  no  right  to  possess. 
''And  what  pleasures,"  cried  Mr.  Thornhill, 
"  do  they  not  deserve  to  possess,  who  have  so 
much  in  their  power  to  bestow  ?  As  for  my 
part,"  continued  he,  "my  fortune  is  pretty 
large  ;  love,  liberty,  and  pleasure,  are  my  max- 
ims ;  but,  curse  me,  if  a  settlement  of  half  my 
estate  could  give  my  charming  Olivia  pleasure, 
it  should  be  hers  ;  and  the  only  favor  I  would 
ask  in  return  would  be  to  add  myself  to  the 
benefit."  I  was  not  such  a  stranger  to  the 
world  as  to  be  ignorant  that  this  was  the  fash- 
ionable cant  to  disguise  the  insolence  of  the 
basest  proposal  ;  but  I  made  an  effort  to  sup- 
press my  resentment.  "Sir,"  cried  I,  "the 
family  which  you  now  condescend  to  favor 
with  your  company,  has  been  bred  with  as  nice 
a  sense  of  honor  as  you.  Any  attempts  to  in- 
jure that  may  be  attended  with  very  dangerous 
consequences.  Honor,  sir,  is  our  only  posses- 
sion at  present,  and  of  that  last  treasure  we 


68  trbe  Dicar  of  ma^^cficlC) 

must  be  particularly  careful. ' '  I  was  soon  sorry 
for  the  warmth  with  which  I  had  spoken  this, 
when  the  young  gentleman,  grasping  my  hand, 
swore  he  commended  my  spirit,  though  he  dis- 
approved my  suspicions.  "  As  to  your  present 
hint,"  continued  he,  "  I  protest  nothing  was 
farther  from  my  heart  than  such  a  thought. 
No,  by  all  that  's  tempting,  the  virtue  that  will 
stand  a  regular  siege  was  never  to  my  taste  ;  for 
all  my  amours  are  carried  by  a  coup  de  main.^'' 
The  two  ladies,  who  affected  to  be  ignorant  of 
the  rest,  seemed  highly  displeased  with  this 
last  stroke  of  freedom,  and  began  a  very  dis- 
creet and  serious  dialogue  upon  %'irtue  :  in  this 
my  wife,  the  chaplain,  and  I  soon  joined  ;  and 
the  'Squire  himself  was  at  last  brought  to  con- 
fess a  sense  of  sorrow  for  his  former  excesses. 
We  talked  of  the  pleasures  of  temperance,  and 
of  the  sunshine  in  the  mind  unpolluted  with 
guilt.  I  was  so  well  pleased,  that  my  little  ones 
were  kept  up  beyond  the  usual  time  to  be  edi- 
fied by  so  much  good  conversation.  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill  even  went  beyond  me,  and  demanded  if  I 
had  any  objection  to  giving  prayers.  I  joyfully 
embraced  the  proposal,  and  in  this  manner  the 
night  was  passed  in  a  most  comfortable  way, 
till  at  last  the  company  began  to  think  of  re- 
turning. The  ladies  seemed  very  unwilling  to 
part  with  my  daughters,   for  whom   they  had 


Zhe  Dfcar  of  *MaF?efielC)  69 

conceived  a  particular  affection,  and  joined  in  a 
request  to  have  the  pleasure  of  their  company 
home.  The  'Squire  seconded  the  proposal,  and 
my  wife  added  her  entreaties  ;  the  girls,  too, 
looked  upon  me  as  if  they  wished  to  go.  In 
this  perplexity  I  made  two  or  three  excuses, 
which  my  daughters  as  readily  removed,  so  that 
at  last  I  was  obliged  to  give  a  peremptory  refu- 
sal, for  which  we  had  nothing  but  sullen  looks 
and  short  answers  the  whole  day  ensuing. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  Family  Endeavors  to  Cope  with  Their  Betters— Th< 
Miseries  of  the  Poor  When  They  Attempt  to  Appeal 
above  Their  Circumstances. 

I  NOW  began  to  find  that  all  my  long  and 
painful  lectures  upon  temperance,  simplici- 
ty, and  contentment  were  entirely  disregarded. 
The  distinctions  lately  paid  us  by  our  betteis 
awakened  that  pride  which  I  had  laid  asleep, 
but  not  removed.  Our  windows  again,  as  for- 
merly, were  filled  with  washes  for  the  neck  and 
face.  The  sun  was  dreaded  as  an  enemy  to  the 
skin  without  doors,  and  the  fire  as  a  spoiler  of 
the  complexion  within.  M}-  wife  observed  that 
rising  too  early  would  hurt  her  daughters'  eyes, 
that  working  after  dinner  would  redden  their 
noses,  and  she  convinced  me  that  the  hands 
never  looked  so  white  as  when  they  did  nothing. 
Instead,  therefore,  of  finishing  George's  shirts, 
we  now  had  them  new-modelling  their  old 
gauzes,  or  flourishing  upon  catgut.     The  poor 


tbc  IDicar  of  makefielD  n 

Miss  Flamboroughs,  their  former  gay  compan- 
ions, were  cast  off  as  mean  acquaintance,  and 
the  whole  conversation  ran  upon  high  life  and 
high-lived  company,  with  pictures,  taste,  Shake- 
speare, and  the  musical  glasses. 

But  we  could  have  borne  all  this,  had  not  a 
fortune-telling  gypsy  come  to  raise  us  into  per- 
fect sublimity.  The  tawny  sibyl  no  sooner 
appeared  than  my  girls  came  running  to  me  for 
a  shilling  apiece,  to  cross  her  hand  with  silver. 
To  say  the  truth,  I  was  tired  of  being  always 
wise,  and  could  not  help  gratifying  their  re- 
quest, because  I  loved  to  see  them  happy.  I 
gave  each  of  them  a  shilling,  though,  for  the 
honor  of  the  family,  it  must  be  observed  that 
they  never  went  without  money  themselves,  as 
my  wife  always  generously  let  them  have  a 
guinea  each  to  keep  in  their  pockets,  but  with 
strict  injunctions  never  to  change  it.  After 
they  had  been  closeted  up  with  the  fortune- 
teller for  some  time,  I  knew  by  their  looks, 
upon  their  returning,  that  they  had  been  prom- 
ised something  great.  "Well,  my  girls,  how 
have  you  sped  ?  Tell  me,  Livy,  has  the  fortune- 
teller given  thee  a  pennyworth  ?  " — "  I  protest, 
papa,"  says  the  girl,  "  I  believe  she  deals  with 
somebody  that  is  not  right,  for  she  positively 
declared  that  I  am  to  be  married  to  a  'squire  in 
less  than  a  twelvemonth  !  " — "  Well,  now,  So- 


72  ^be  \t)icar  ot  'M^\\cfiM 

phy,  my  child,"  said  I,  "and  what  sort  of  a 
husband  are  you  to  have?" — "Sir,"  replied 
she,  "  I  am  to  have  a  lord  soon  after  my  sister 
has  married  the  'squire." — "How,"  cried  I, 
"  is  that  all  you  are  to  have  for  your  two  shil- 
lings !  Only  a  lord  and  a  'squire  for  two  shil- 
lings !  You  fools,  I  could  have  promised  you  a 
prince  and  a  nabob  for  half  the  money  !  " 

This  curiosity  of  theirs,  however,  was  attend- 
ed with  very  serious  effects  ;  we  now  began  to 
think  ourselves  designed  by  the  stars  to  some- 
thing exalted,  and  already  anticipated  our 
future  grandeur. 

It  has  been  a  thousand  times  observed,  and  I 
must  obser\'e  it  once  more,  that  the  hours  we 
pass  with  happy  prospects  in  view  are  more 
pleasing  than  those  crowned  with  fruition.  In 
the  first  case,  we  cook  the  dish  to  our  own  ap- 
petite ;  in  the  latter,  nature  cooks  it  for  us.  It 
is  impossible  to  repeat  the  train  of  agreeable 
reveries  we  called  up  for  our  entertainment. 
We  looked  upon  our  fortunes  as  once  more  ris- 
ing ;  and  as  the  whole  parish  asserted  that  the 
'Squiie  was  in  love  with  my  daughter,  she  was 
actually  so  with  him,  for  they  persuaded  her 
into  the  passion.  In  this  agreeable  interval  my 
wife  had  the  most  lucky  dreams  in  the  world, 
which  she  took  care  to  tell  us  every  morning 
with  great  solemnity'  and  exactness.    It  was  one 


Cbe  IDicar  of  limal^efielD  73 

night  a  coffin  and  cross-bones,  the  sign  of  an 
approaching  wedding ;  at  another  time  she 
imagined  her  daughter's  pockets  filled  with 
farthiugs,  a  certain  sign  of  their  being  shortly 
stuffed  with  gold.  The  girls  themselves  had 
their  omens.  They  felt  strange  kisses  on  their 
lips ;  they  saw  rings  in  the  candle  ;  purses 
bounced  from  the  fire,  and  true-love  knots 
lurked  in  the  bottom  of  every  tea-cup. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  week  we  received  a 
card  from  the  town  ladies,  in  which,  with  their 
compliments,  they  hoped  to  see  all  our  family 
at  church  the  Sunday  following.  All  Saturday 
morning  I  could  perceive,  in  consequence  of 
this,  my  wife  and  daughters  in  close  conference 
together,  and  now  and  then  glancing  at  me 
with  looks  that  betrayed  a  latent  plot.  To  be 
sincere,  I  had  strong  suspicions  that  some  ab- 
surd proposal  was  preparing  for  appearing  with 
splendor  the  next  day.  In  the  evening  they 
began  their  operations  in  a  very  regular  man- 
ner, and  my  wife  undertook  to  conduct  the 
siege.  After  tea,  when  I  seemed  in  spirits,  she 
began  thus:  "I  fancy,  Charles,  my  dear,  we 
shall  have  a  great  deal  of  good  company  at  our 
church  to-morrow." — "Perhaps  we  may,  my 
dear,"  returned  I ;  "  though  you  need  be  under 
no  uneasiness  about  that,  you  shall  have  a  ser- 
mon whether  there  be  or  not."—"  That  is  what 


74  trbe  IDicar  of  Makefielt) 

I  expect,"  returned  she;  "but  I  think,  my 
dear,  we  ought  to  appear  there  as  decently  as 
possible,  for  who  knows  what  may  happen?" 
— "Your  precautions,"  replied  I,  "are  highly 
commendable.  A  decent  behavior  and  appear- 
ance in  church  is  what  charms  me.  We  should 
be  devout  and  humble,  cheerful  and  serene." 
— "Yes,"  cried  she,  "I  know  that  ;  but  I  mean 
we  should  go  there  in  as  proper  a  manner  as 
possible ;  not  altogether  like  the  scrubs  about 
us." — "  You  are  quite  right,  my  dear,"  returned 
I,  "and  I  was  going  to  make  the  very  same 
proposal.  The  proper  manner  of  going  is  to  go 
there  as  early  as  possible,  to  have  time  for  med- 
itation before  the  service  begins." — "  Phoo, 
Charles  ! ' '  interrupted  she  ;  "all  that  is  very 
true,  but  not  what  I  would  be  at.  I  mean  we 
should  go  there  genteelly.  You  know  the 
church  is  two  miles  off,  and  I  protest  I  don't 
like  to  see  my  daughters  trudging  up  to  their 
pew  all  blowzed  and  red  with  walking,  and 
looking  for  all  the  world  as  if  they  had  been 
winners  at  a  smock  race.  Now,  my  dear, 
my  proposal  is  this  :  there  are  our  two 
plough  horses,  the  colt  that  has  been  in  our 
family  these  nine  years,  and  his  companion 
Blackberry^  that  has  scarcely  done  an  earthly 
thing  for  this  month  past.  They  are  both 
grown  fat  and  lazy.     Why  should  not  they  do 


trbe  \Dicar  of  mal^efiel& 


75 


something  as  well  as  we  ?  And  let  me  tell  you, 
when  Moses  has  trimmed  them  a  little,  they 
will  cut  a  very  tolerable  figure. ' ' 

To   this   proposal   I   objected    that   walking 


TOO  LATK  FOR  CHURCH. 


would  be  twenty  times  more  genteel  than  such 
a  paltry  conveyance,  as  Blackberry  was  wall- 
eyed and  the  colt  wanted  a  tail ;  that  they  had 
never  been  broke  to  the  rein,  but  had  a  hun- 


76  trbe  \Dicar  of  MakefielD 

dred  vicious  tricks ;  and  that  we  had  but  one 
saddle  and  pillion  in  the  whole  house.  All 
these  objections,  however,  were  overruled  ;  so 
that  I  was  obliged  to  comply.  The  next  morn- 
ing I  perceived  them  not  a  little  busy  in  col- 
lecting such  materials  as  might  be  necessary 
for  the  expedition  ;  but  as  I  found  it  would  be  a 
business  of  time,  I  walked  on  to  the  church 
before,  and  they  promised  speedily  to  follow.  I 
waited  near  an  hour  in  the  reading-desk  for 
their  arrival,  but  not  finding  them  come  as  I 
expected,  I  was  obliged  to  begin,  and  went 
through  the  ser\ace,  not  without  some  uneasi- 
ness at  finding  them  absent.  This  was  increased 
when  all  was  finished,  and  no  appearance  of 
the  family,  I  therefore  walked  back  by  the 
horse-way,  which  was  five  miles  round,  though 
the  footway  was  but  two,  and  when  I  got  about 
half-way  home,  perceived  the  procession  march- 
ing slowly  forward  towards  the  church  ;  my  son, 
ray  wife,  and  the  two  little  ones  exalted  upon 
one  horse,  and  my  two  daughters  upon  the 
other.  I  demanded  the  cause  of  their  delay  ; 
but  I  soon  found  by  their  looks  they  had  met 
with  a  thousand  misfortunes  on  the  road.  The 
horses  had  at  first  refused  to  move  from  the 
door,  till  Mr.  Burchell  was  kind  enough  to  beat 
them  forward  for  about  two  hundred  yards  with 
his  cudgel.     Next,  the  straps  of  my  wife's  pil- 


Zbc  Vicnx  of  MalftcfielD  77 

lion  broke  down,  and  they  were  obliged  to  stop 
to  repair  them  before  they  could  proceed. 
After  that,  one  of  the  horses  took  it  into  his 
head  to  stand  still,  and  neither  blows  nor  en- 
treaties could  prevail  with  him  to  proceed. 
They  were  just  recovering  from  this  dismal 
situation  when  I  found  them  ;  but  perceiving 
every  thing  safe,  I  own  their  present  mortifica- 
tion did  not  much  displease  me,  as  it  would 
give  me  many  opportunities  of  future  triumph, 
and  teach  my  daughters  more  humility. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Family  Still  Resolve  to  Hold  Up  Their  Heads. 

MICHAEIvMAS-EVE  happening  on  the  next 
day,  we  were  invited  to  burn  nuts  and 
play  tricks  at  neighbor  Flamborough's.  Our 
late  mortifications  had  humbled  us  a  little,  or  it 
is  probable  we  might  have  rejected  such  an  invi- 
tation with  contempt ;  however,  we  suffered 
ourselves  to  be  happy.  Our  honest  neighbor's 
goose  and  dumplings  were  fine,  and  the  lamb's- 
wool,  even  in  the  opinion  of  my  wife,  who  was 
a  connoisseur,  was  excellent.  It  is  true  his 
manner  of  telling  stories  was  not  quite  so  well ; 
they  were  very  long  and  very  dull,  and  all 
about  himself,  and  we  had  laughed  at  them  ten 
times  before  ;  however,  we  were  kind  enough 
to  laugh  at  them  once  more. 

Mr.  Burchell,  who  was  of  the  party,  was  al- 
ways fond  of  seeing  some  innocent  amusement 
going  forward,  and  set  the  boys  and  girls  to  blind- 
man's-buff.  My  wife,  too,  was  persuaded  to 
join  in  the  diversion,  and  it  gave  me  pleasure  to 
think  she  was  not  yet  too  old.     In  the  meantime 


XLhc  meat  of  maftefielD  79 

my  neighbor  and  I  looked  on,  laughed  at  every 
feat,  and  praised  our  own  dexterity  when  we 
were  young.  Hot  cockles  succeeded  next, 
questions  and  commands  followed  that,  and, 
last  of  all,  the}'  sat  down  to  hunt  the  slipper. 
As  every  person  may  not  be  acquainted  with 
this  primeval  pastime,  it  may  be  necessary  to 
observe  that  the  company  at  this  play  planted 
themselves  in  a  ring  upon  the  ground,  all  ex- 
cept one,  who  stands  in  the  middle,  whose  busi- 
ness it  is  to  catch  a  shoe  which  the  company 
shove  about  under  their  hams  from  one  to  an- 
other, something  like  a  weaver's  shuttle.  As  it 
is  impossible  in  this  case  for  the  lady  who  is  up 
to  face  all  the  company  at  once,  the  great 
beauty  of  the  play  lies  in  hitting  her  a  thump 
with  the  heel  of  the  shoe  on  that  side  least 
capable  of  making  a  defence.  It  was  in  this 
manner  that  my  eldest  daughter  was  hemmed 
in  and  thumped  about,  all  blowzed  in  spirits, 
and  bawding  for  fair  play,  with  a  voice  that 
might  deafen  a  ballad-singer,  when,  confusion 
on  confusion,  who  should  enter  the  room  but 
our  two  great  acquaintances  from  town,  Lady 
Blarney  and  Miss  Carolina  Wilhelmina  Amelia 
Skeggs  !  Description  would  but  beggar,  there- 
fore it  is  unnecessary  to  describe  this  new 
mortification.  Death  !  To  be  seen  by  ladies  of 
such  high  breeding  in  such  vulgar  attitudes  ! 


So  XLhc  meat  ot  mal^efielC) 

Nothing  better  could  ensue  from  such  a  -snilgar 
play  of  Mr.  Flamborough's  proposing.  We 
seemed  stuck  to  the  ground  for  some  time,  as 
if  actually  petrified  with  amazement. 

The  two  ladies  had  been  at  our  house  to  see 
us,  and  finding  us  from  home,  came  after  us 
hither,  as  they  were  uneasy  to  know  what  acci- 
dent could  have  kept  us  from  church  the  day 
before.  Olivia  undertook  to  be  our  prolocutor, 
and  delivered  the  whole  in  a  summary'  wa}^, 
only  saying :  ' '  We  were  thrown  from  our 
horses."  At  which  account  the  ladies  were 
greatly  concerned  ;  but  being  told  the  family 
received  no  hurt,  they  were  extremely  glad  ; 
but  being  informed  that  we  were  almost  killed 
by  the  fright,  they  were  vastly  sorry  ;  but  hear- 
ing that  we  had  a  very  good  night,  they  were 
extremely  glad  again.  Nothing  could  exceed 
their  complaisance  to  my  daughters  ;  their  pro- 
fessions the  last  evening  were  warm,  but  now 
they  were  ardent.  They  protested  a  desire  of 
having  a  more  lasting  acquaintance ;  I^ady 
Blarney  was  particularly  attached  to  Olivia ; 
Miss  Carolina  Wilhelmina  Amelia  Skeggs  (I 
love  to  give  the  whole  name)  took  a  greater 
fancy  to  her  sister.  They  supported  the  conver- 
sation between  themselves,  while  my  daughters 
sat  silent,  admiring  their  exalted  breeding. 
But  as  every  reader,  however  beggarly  himself, 


^be  IDicar  ot  "Makefiel^ 


is  fond  of  high-lived  dialogues,  with  anecdotes 
of  Ivords,  lyadies,  and  Knights  of  the  Garter,  I 
must  beg  leave  to  give  him  the  concluding  part 
of  the  present  conversation. 

"  All  that  I  know  of  the  matter,"  cried  Miss 
Skeggs,  "  is  this,  that  it  may  be  true,  or  it  may 
not  be  true  ;  but  this  I  can  assure  your  Lady- 
ship, that  the  whole  rout  was  in  amaze ;  his 
Lordship  turned  all  manner  of  colors,  my  Lady 
fell  into  a  swoon,  but  Sir  Tomkyn,  drawing  his 
sword,  swore  he  was  herp  to  the  last  drop  of  his 
blood." 

*'  Well,"  replied  our  Peeress,  "this  I  can  say, 
that  the  Duchess  never  told  me  a  syllable  of  the 
matter,  and  I  believe  her  Grace  would  keep 
nothing  a  secret  from  me.  This  you  may  de- 
pend upon  as  fact,  that  the  next  morning  my 
Lord  Duke  cried  out  three  times  to  his  valet-de- 
chambre :  'Jernigan,  Jernigan,  Jernigan,  bring 
me  my  garters  ! '  " 

But  previously  I  should  have  mentioned  the 
very  impolite  behavior  of  Mr.  Burchell,  w^ho, 
during  this  discourse,  sat  with  his  face  turned 
to  the  fire,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  every  sen- 
tence would  cry  out  '•'Fudge !  " — an  expression 
which  displeased  us  all,  and  in  some  measure 
damped  the  rising  spirit  of  the  conversation, 

**  Besides,  my  dear  Skeggs,"  continued  our 
Peeress,  "there  is  nothing  of  this  in  the  copy 


82  ^be  Dicar  of  MafeeflelD 

of  verses  that  Doctor  Burdock  made  upon  the 
occasion. ' '     Fudge  ! 

"  I  am  surprised  at  that,"  cried  Miss  Skeggs  ; 
"for  he  seldom  leaves  any  thing  out,  as  he 
writes  only  for  his  own  amusement.  But  can 
your  Ladyship  favor  me  with  a  sight  of  them?" 
Fudge  ! 

"My  dear  creature,"  replied  our  Peeress,  "do 
you  think  I  carry  such  things  about  me  ? 
Though  they  are  very  fine  to  be  sure,  and  I 
think  myself  something  of  a  judge  ;  at  least,  I 
know  what  pleases  myself.  Indeed,  I  was  ever 
an  admirer  of  all  Doctor  Burdock's  little  pieces ; 
for  except  what  he  does,  and  our  dear  Countess 
at  Hanover  Square,  there  's  nothing  comes  out 
but  the  most  lowest  stuff  in  nature  ;  not  a  bit  of 
high  life  among  them."     Fudge  ! 

"Your  Ladyship  should  except,"  says  t'  other. 
"  your  own  things  in  the  Ladfs  Magazine.  I 
hope  you  '11  say  there  's  nothing  low-lived 
there  ?  But  I  suppose  we  are  to  have  no  more 
from  that  quarter  ?  ' '     Fudge  ! 

"Why,  my  dear,"  says  the  Lady,  "you  know 
my  reader  and  companion  has  left  me  to  be 
married  to  Captain  Roach,  and  as  my  poor  eyes 
won't  suffer  me  to  write  myself,  I  have  been  for 
some  time  looking  out  for  another.  A  proper 
person  is  no  easy  matter  to  find,  and  to  be  sure 
thirty  pounds  a  year  is  a  small  stipend  for  a 


^be  IDicar  of  Mal^eficlO 


S3 


well-bred  girl  of  character,  that  can  read,  write, 
and  behave  in  company  ;  as  for  the  chits  about 
town,  there  is  no  bearing  them  about  one." 
Fudge  ! 

"  That  I  know,"  cried  Miss  Skeggs,  "  by  ex- 
perience.    For  of  the  three  companions  I  had 


this  last  half-year,  one  of  them  refused  to  do 
plain-work  an  hour  in  the  day,  another  thought 
twenty-five  guineas  a  year  too  small  a  salary, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  send  away  the  third,  be- 
cause I  suspected  an  intrigue  with  the  chaplain. 
Virtue,  my  dear  Lady  Blarney,  virtue  is  worth 


84  Zbc  meat  of  maKefielD 

any  price;   but  where  is  that  to  be  found?" 
Fudge  ! 

My  wife  had  been  for  a  long  time  all  attention 
to  this  discourse  ;  but  was  particularly  struck 
with  the  latter  part  of  it.  Thirty  pounds  and 
twenty-five  guineas  a  year  made  fifty-six  pounds 
five  shillings  English  money,  all  which  was  in 
a  manner  going  a-begging,  and  might  easily  be 
secured  in  the  family.  She  for  a  moment 
studied  my  looks  for  approbation  ;  and,  to  own 
a  truth,  I  was  of  opinion  that  two  such  places 
would  fit  our  two  daughters  exactly.  Besides, 
if  the  'Squire  had  any  real  affection  for  my 
eldest  daughter,  this  would  be  the  way  to  make 
her  every  way  qualified  for  her  fortune.  My 
wife,  therefore,  was  resolved  that  we  should  not 
be  deprived  of  such  advantages  for  want  of  as- 
surance, and  undertook  to  harangue  for  the 
family.  "  I  hope,"  cried  she,  "your  Ladyships 
will  pardon  my  present  presumption.  It  is 
true,  we  have  no  right  to  pretend  to  such 
favors ;  but  yet  it  is  natiiral  for  me  to  wish 
putting  my  children  forward  in  the  world. 
And  I  will  be  bold  to  say  my  two  girls  have  had 
a  pretty  good  education,  and  capacity  ;  at  least 
the  country  can't  show  better.  They  can  read, 
write,  and  cast  accounts ;  they  understand  their 
needle,  broad-stitch,  cross  and  change,  and  all 
manner  of  plain-work ;  they  can  pink,  point, 


Zbc  tDicar  of  makeflelO  85^ 

• ;  \      ~       '\ 

and  frill ;  and  know  something  of  music  ;  they 
can  do  up  small-clothes,  work  upon  catgut ;  my 
eldest  can  cut  paper,  and  my  youngest  has  a 
vei-y  pretty  manner  of  telling  fortunes  upon  the 
cards."     Ficdge ! 

When  she  had  delivered  this  pretty  piece  of 
eloquence,  the  two  ladies  looked  at  each  other 
a  few  minutes  in  silence,  with  an  air  of  doubt 
and  importance.  At  last,  Miss  Carolina  Wil- 
helmina  Amelia  Skeggs  condescended  to  ob- 
serv^e  that  the  young  ladies,  from  the  opinion 
she  could  form  of  them  from  so  slight  an  ac- 
quaintance, seemed  very  fit  for  such  employ- 
ments. "But  a  thing  of  this  kind,  madam," 
cried  she,  addressing  my  spouse,  "requires  a 
thorough  examination  into  characters,  and  a 
more  perfect  knowledge  of  each  other.  Not, 
madam,"  continued  she,  "that  I  in  the  least 
suspect  the  young  ladies'  virtue,  prudence,  and 
discretion  ;  but  there  is  a  form  in  these  things, 
madam,  there  is  a  form." 

My  wife  approved  her  suspicions  very  much, 
observing  that  she  was  very  apt  to  be  suspicious 
herself;  but  referred  her  to  all  the  neighbors 
for  a  character ;  but  this  our  Peeress  declined 
as  unnecessary,  alleging  that  her  cotisin  Thorn- 
hill's  recommendation  would  be  sufficient,  and 
upon  this  we  rested  our  petition. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Fortune  Seems  Resolved  to  Humble  the  Family  of  Wake- 
field—:Mortifications  Are  Often  More  Painful  than 
Real  Calamities. 

WHEN  we  were  returned  home,  the  night 
was  dedicated  to  schemes  of  future  con- 
quest, Deborah  exerted  much  sagacity  in  con- 
jecturing which  of  the  two  girls  was  likely  to 
have  the  best  place,  and  most  opportunities  of 
seeing  good  company.  The  only  obstacle  to 
our  preferment  was  in  obtaining  the  'Squire's 
recommendation  ;  but  he  had  already  shown  us 
too  many  instances  of  his  friendship  to  doubt 
of  it  now.  Even  in  bed  my  wife  kept  up  ^,he 
usual  theme:  "Well,  faith,  my  dear  Charles, 
between  ourselves,  I  think  we  have  made  an 
excellent  day's  work  of  it." — "Pretty  well," 
cried  I,  not  knowing  what  to  say. — "What, 
only  pretty  well !  "  returned  she  ;  "I  think  it  is 
very  well.  vSuppose  the  girls  should  come  to 
make  acquaintances  of  taste  in  town  !  This  I 
am  assured  of,  that  London  is  the  only  place  in 


Zbc  Dicar  ot  makefiel^  87^ 

_ __ . ^ 

the  world  for  all  manner  of  husbands.  Besides, 
my  dear,  stranger  things  happen  every  day  : 
and  as  ladies  of  quality  are  so  taken  with  ni}- 
daughters,  what  will  not  men  of  quality  be  ! 
Entj'e  nous,  I  protest  I  like  my  Lady  Blarney 
vastly  ;  so  very  obliging.  However,  Miss  Caro- 
lina Wilhelmina  Amelia  Skeggs  has  my  warm 
heart.  But  yet,  when  they  came  to  talk  of 
places  in  town,  you  saw  at  once  how  I  nailed 
them.  Tell  me,  my  dear,  don't  you  think  I  did 
for  my  children  there?" — "Ay,"  returned  I, 
not  knowing  well  what  to  think  of  the  matter  ; 
"  Heaven  grant  they  may  be  both  the  better  for 
it  this  day  three  months  !  "  This  was  one  of 
those  observations  I  usually  made  to  impress 
my  wife  with  an  opinion  of  my  sagacity  ;  for  if 
the  girls  succeeded,  then  it  was  a  pious  wish 
fulfilled  ;  biit  if  any  thing  unfortunate  ensued, 
then  it  might  be  looked  upon  as  a  prophecy. 
All  this  conversation,  however,  was  only  pre- 
paratory to  another  scheme,  and  indeed  I 
dreaded  as  much.  This  was  nothing  less  than, 
that  as  we  were  now  to  hold  up  our  heads  a  lit- 
tle higher  in  the  world,  it  would  be  proper  to 
sell  the  colt,  which  was  grown  old,  at  a  neigh- 
boring fair,  and  buy  us  a  horse  that  would  carry 
single  or  double  upon  an  occasion,  and  make  a 
pretty  appearance  at  church  or  upon  a  visit 
This  at  first  I  opposed  stoutly  ;    but  it  was  as 


38  Zhc  Dicar  of  makcfielD 

stoutly  defended.  However,  as  I  weakened, 
my  antagonist  gained  strength,  till  at  last  it 
was  resolved  to  part  with  him. 

As  the  fair  happened  on  the  following  day,  I 
had  intentions  of  going  myself;  but  my  wife 
persuaded  me  that  I  had  got  a  cold,  and  nothing 
could  prevail  upon  her  to  permit  me  from  home. 
"No,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "  our  son  Moses  is  a 
discreet  boy,  and  can  buy  and  sell  to  very  good 
advantage  ;  you  know  all  our  great  bargains  are 
of  his  purchasing.  He  always  stands  out  and 
higgles,  and  actually  tires  them  till  he  gets  a 
bargain." 

As  I  had  some  opinion  of  my  son's  prudence, 
I  was  willing  enough  to  entrust  him  with  this 
commission  ;  and  the  next  morning  I  perceived 
his  sisters  mighty  busy  in  fitting  out  Moses  for 
the  fair ;  trimming  his  hair,  brushing  his 
buckles,  and  cocking  his  hat  with  pins.  The 
business  of  the  toilet  being  over,  we  had  at  last 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  mounted  upon 
the  colt,  with  a  deal  box  before  him  to  bring 
home  groceries  in.  He  had  on  a  coat  made  of 
that  cloth  they  call  thunder-and-lightning, 
which,  though  grown  too  short,  was  much  too 
good  to  be  thrown  away.  His  waistcoat  was  of 
gosling  green,  and  his  sisters  had  tied  his  hair 
with  a  broad  black  riband.  We  all  followed 
him  several  paces  from  the  door,  bawling  aftei 


tbc  Vicav  ot  mal^efielD 


him  "  Good  luck  !  good  luck  !  "  till  we   could 
see  him  no  longer. 

He  was  scarcely  gone  when  Mr.  Thornhill's 


MOSES   GOING   TO  THE  FAIR. 


butler  came  to  congratulate  us  upon  our  good 
fortune,  saying  that  he  overheard  his  young 
master  mention  our  names  with  great  com- 
mendation. 


go  tTbe  Dicar  of  MahcffelJ) 

Good  fortune  seems  resolved  not  to  come 
alone.  Another  footman  from  the  same  family 
followed,  with  a  card  for  my  two  daughters,  inl- 
porting  that  the  two  ladies  had  received  such 
pleasing  accounts  from  Mr.  Thornhill  of  us  all, 
that,  after  a  few  previous  inquiries,  they  hoped 
to  be  perfectly  satisfied.  "Ay,"  cried  my  wife, 
"  I  now  see  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  get  into  the 
families  of  the  great  ;  but  when  one  once  gets 
in,  then,  as  Moses  says,  one  may  go  to  sleep." 
To  this  piece  of  humor,  for  she  intended  it  for 
wit,  my  daughters  assented  with  a  loud  laugh 
of  pleasure.  In  short,  such  was  her  satisfaction 
at  this  message,  that  she  actually  put  her  hand 
in  her  pocket,  and  gave  the  messenger  seven- 
pence  halfpenny. 

This  was  to  be  our  visiting  day.  The  next 
that  came  was  Mr.  Burchell,  who  had  been  at 
the  fair.  He  brought  my  little  ones  a  penny- 
worth of  gingerbread  each,  which  my  wife  un- 
dertook to  keep  for  them,  and  give  them  by 
little  at  a  time.  He  brought  my  daughters 
also  a  couple  of  boxes,  in  which  they  might 
keep  wafers,  snufF,  patches,  or  even  money, 
when  they  got  it.  My  wife  was  unusually  fond 
of  a  weasel-skin  purse,  as  being  the  most 
lucky  ;  but  this  by  the  bye.  We  had  still  a  re- 
gard for  Mr.  Burchell,  though  his  late  rude  be- 
havior was  in  some   measure  displeasing  ;  nor 


trbe  Dicar  of  lKIlakcfi[el&  9^, 

could  we  now  avoid  communicating  our  happi- 
ness to  him,  and  asking  his  advice  ;  although 
we  seldom  followed  advice,  we  were  all  ready 
enough  to  ask  it.  When  he  read  the  note  from 
the  two  ladies,  he  shook  his  head,  and  observ^ed 
that  an  affair  of  this  sort  demanded  the  utmost 
circumspection.  This  air  of  diffidence  highly 
d/spleased  my  wife.  "I  never  doubted,  sir," 
cried  she,  "your  readiness  to  be  against  my 
daughters  and  me.  You  have  more  circumspec- 
tion than  is  wanted.  However,  I  fancy  when 
we  come  to  ask  advice,  we  shall  apply  to 
those  who  seem  to  have  made  use  of  it  them- 
selves."— "Whatever  my  own  conduct  may 
h/ive  been,  madam, ' '  replied  he,  ' '  is  not  the  pres- 
ent question  ;  though  as  I  have  made  no  use  of 
advice  myself,  I  should  in  conscience  give  it  to 
those  that  will."  As  I  was  apprehensive  this 
answer  might  draw  on  a  repartee,  making  up  by 
abuse  what  it  wanted  in  wit,  I  changed  the  sub- 
ject, by  seeming  to  wonder  what  could  keep 
our  son  so  long  at  the  fair,  as  it  was  now  almost 
nightfall.  "Never  mind  our  son,"  cried  my 
wife  ;  "  depend  upon  it  he  knows  what  he  is 
about.  I  '11  warrant  we  '11  never  see  him  sell 
his  hen  on  a  rainy  day.  I  have  seen  him  buy 
such  bargains  as  would  amaze  one.  I  '11  tell 
you  a  good  story  about  that  that  will  make  you 
split  your  sides  with  laughing.     But  as  I  live, 


92  ^be  tDicar  of  Mahefielt) 

yonder  comes  Moses,  without  a  horse,  and  the 
box  at  his  back." 

As  she  spoke,  Moses  came  slowly  on  foot, 
and  sweating  under  the  deal  box  which  he  had 
strapped  round  his  shoulders  like  a  pedlar. 
"Welcome,  welcome,  Moses;  well,  my  boy, 
what  have  you  brought  us  from  the  fair  ?  " — "  I 
have  brought  you  m3-self, ' '  cried  Moses,  with  a 
sly  look,  and  resting  the  box  on  the  dresser. — 
' '  Ay,  Moses, ' '  cried  my  wife,  ' '  that  we  know, 
but  where  is  the  horse  ?  " — "  I  have  sold  him," 
cried  Moses,  "for  three  pounds  five  shillings 
and  twopence." — "Well  done,  my  good  boy," 
returned  she,  "  I  knew  you  would  touch  them 
off.  Between  ourselves,  three  pounds  five  shil- 
lings and  twopence  is  no  bad  day's  work. 
Come,  let  us  have  it,  then." — "  I  have  brought 
back  no  money,"  cried  Moses  again.  "  I  have 
laid  it  all  out  in  a  bargain,  and  here  it  is,"  pull- 
ing out  a  bundle  from  his  breast;  "here  they 
are,  a  gross  of  green  spectacles,  with  silver 
rims  and  shagreen  cases." — "  A  gross  of  green 
spectacles  !  "  repeated  my  wife  in  a  faint  voice. 
"And  you  have  parted  with  the  colt,  and  brought 
us  back  nothing  but  a  gross  of  green  paltry 
spectacles!" — "Dear  mother,"  cried  the  boy, 
"  why  won't  you  listen  to  reason  ?  I  had  them 
a  dead  bargain,  or  I  should  not  have  bought 
them.    The  silver  rims  alone  will  sell  for  double 


^be  Dicar  of  maf^efielS  gi 

the  money." — "  A  fig  for  the  silver  rims  !  "  cried 
my  wife,  in  a  passion  ;  "I  dare  swear  they 
won't  sell  for  above  half  the  money  at  the  rate 
of  broken  silver,  five  shillings  an  ounce." — 
"You  need  be  under  no  uneasiness,"  cried  I, 
*'  about  selling  the  rims,  for  they  are  not  worth 
sixpence,  for  I  perceive  they  are  only  copper 
varnished  over." — "What!"  cried  my  wife, 
"not  silver,  the  rims  not  silver!" — "No," 
cried  I,  "no  more  silver  than  your  saucepan." — 
"  And  so,"  returned  she,  "  we  have  parted  with 
the  colt,  and  have  only  got  a  gross  of  green 
spectacles  with  copper  rims  and  shagreen  cases  ! 
A  murrain  take  such  trumpery'  !  The  block- 
head has  been  imposed  upon,  and  should  have 
known  his  company  better." — "There,  my 
dear,"  cried  I,  "you  are  wrong,  he  should  not 
have  known  them  at  all." — "Marry,  hang  the 
idiot  !  "  returned  she,  "  to  bring  me  such  stuff; 
if  I  had  them  I  would  throw  them  into  the 
fire  !  "  —  "  There  again  you  are  wrong,  my 
dear,"  cried  I,  "  for  though  they  be  copper,  we 
will  keep  them  by  us,  as  copper  spectacles,  you 
know,  are  better  than  nothing." 

By  this  time  the  unfortunate  Moses  was  unde- 
ceived. He  now  saw  that  he  had  indeed  been 
imposed  upon  by  a  prowling  sharper,  who,  ob- 
serving his  figure,  had  marked  him  for  an  easy 
prey.     I  therefore  asked  the  circumstances  of 


94  trbe  IDfcar  of  mal^efielD 

his  deception.  He  sold  the  horse,  it  seems, 
and  walked  the  fair  in  search  of  another.  A 
reverend-looking  man  brought  him  to  a  tent, 
under  pretence  of  having  one  to  sell.  "  Here," 
continued  Moses,  "we  met  another  man,  very 
well  dressed,  who  desired  to  borrow  twenty 
pounds  upon  these,  saying  that  he  wanted 
money,  and  would  dispose  of  them  for  a  third 
of  the  value.  The  first  gentleman,  who  pre- 
tended to  be  my  friend,  whispered  to  me  to  buy 
them,  and  cautioned  me  not  to  let  so  good  an 
offer  pass.  I  sent  for  Mr.  Flamborough,  and 
they  talked  him  up  as  finely  as  they  did  me, 
and  so  at  last  we  were  persuaded  to  buy  the 
two  gross  between  us." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Mr.  Burchell  is  Found  to  be  an  Enemy  ;  for  He  Has  the 
Confidence  to  Give  Disagreeable  Advice. 

OUR  family  had  now  made  several  attempts 
to  be  fine  ;  but  some  unforeseen  disaster 
demolished  each  as  soon  as  projected.  I  en- 
deavored to  take  the  advantage  of  everv'  disap- 
pointment, to  improve  their  good-sense  in  pro- 
portion as  they  were  frustrated  in  ambition. 
"You  see,  my  children,"  cried  I,  "how  little 
is  to  be  got  by  attempts  to  impose  upon  the 
world  in  coping  with  our  betters.  Such  as  are 
poor  and  will  associate  with  none  but  the  rich, 
are  hated  by  those  they  avoid,  and  despised  by 
those  they  follow.  Unequal  combinations  are 
always  disadvantageous  to  the  weaker  side  :  the 
rich  having  the  pleasure,  and  the  poor  the  in- 
conveniences that  result  from  them.  But  come, 
Dick,  my  boy,  and  repeat  the  fable  that  you 
were  reading  to-day,  for  the  good  of  the  com- 
pany." 


9-6  ^be  IDicar  ot  MakeflelD 

"Once  upon  a  time,"  cried  the  child,  "a 
Giant  and  a  Dwarf  were  friends,  and  kept  to- 
gether. They  made  a  bargain  that  they  would 
never  forsake  each  other,  but  go  seek  adven- 
tures. The  first  battle  they  fought  was  with 
two  Saracens,  and  the  Dwarf,  who  was  very 
courageous,  dealt  one  of  the  champions  a  most 
angry  blow.  It  did  the  Saracen  very  little  in- 
jury, who,  lifting  up  his  sword,  fairly  struck  off 
the  poor  Dwarf's  arm.  He  was  now  in  a  woful 
plight ;  but  the  Giant  coming  to  his  assistance, 
in  a  short  time  left  the  two  Saracens  dead  on  the 
plain  ;  and  the  Dwarf  cut  off  the  dead  man's 
head  out  of  spite.  They  then  travelled  on  to 
another  adventure.  This  was  against  three 
bloody-minded  Sat3'rs,  who  were  carrying  away 
a  damsel  in  distress.  The  Dwarf  w^as  not  quite 
so  fierce  now  as  before,  but  for  all  that  struck 
the  first  blow,  which  was  returned  by  another, 
that  knocked  out  his  eye ;  but  the  Giant  was 
soon  up  with  them,  and  had  they  not  fled  would 
certainly  have  killed  them  every  one.  They 
were  all  very  joyful  for  this  victory,  and  the 
damsel  who  was  relieved  fell  in  love  with  the 
Giant,  and  married  him.  They  now  travelled 
far,  and  farther  than  I  can  tell,  till  they  met 
with  a  company  of  robbers.  The  Giant,  for  the 
first  time,  was  foremost  now;  but  the  Dwarf  was 
not  far  behind.     The  battle  was  stout  and  long; 


^be  meat  of  'MaftefielD 


^Vherever  the  Giant  came  all  fell  before  him  ; 
but  the  Dwarf  had  like  to  have  been  killed 
more  than  once.  At  last  the  victory  declared 
for  the  two  adventurers  ;  but  the  Dwarf  lost  his 
leg.  The  Dwarf  was  now  without  an  arm,  a  leg, 
and  an  eye,  while  the  Giant  was  without  a 
single  wound.  Upon  which  he  cried  out  to  his 
little  companion  :  '  My  little  hero,  this  is  glo- 
rious sport ;  let  us  get  one  victory  more,  and 
then  we  shall  have  honor  for  ever!' — 'No,' 
cries  the  Dwarf,  who  was  by  this  time  grown 
wiser,  *no,  I  declare  off.  I  '11  fight  no  more; 
for  I  find  in  every  battle  that  you  get  all  the 
honor  and  rewards,  but  all  the  blows  fall  upon 
rae.'  " 

I  was  going  to  moralize  this  fable,  when  our 
attention  was  called  off  to  a  warm  dispute  be- 
tween my  wife  and  Mr,  Burchell,  upon  my 
daughters'  intended  expedition  to  town.  My 
wife  very  strenuously  insisted  upon  the  advan- 
tages that  would  result  from  it.  Mr.  Burchell, 
on  the  contrary,  dissuaded  her  with  great  ar- 
dor, and  I  stood  neuter.  His  present  dissua- 
sions seemed  but  the  second  part  of  those  which 
were  received  w^ith  so  ill  a  grace  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  dispute  grew  high,  while  poor  De- 
borah, instead  of  reasoning  stronger,  talked 
louder,  and  at  last  was  obliged  to  take  shelter 
from  a  defeat  in  clamor.     The  conclusion  of 


98  Zbe  Dicar  of  MaftefielO 

her  harangue,  however,  was  highly  displeasing 
to  us  all.  She  knew,  she  said,  of  some  who  had 
their  own  secret  reasons  for  what  they  advised  ; 
but,  for  her  part,  she  wished  such  to  stay  away 
from  her  house  for  the  future.  "Madam," 
cried  Burchell,  with  looks  of  great  composure, 
which  tended  to  inflame  her  the  more,  "as 
for  secret  reasons,  3'ou  are  right.  I  have  secret 
reasons,  which  I  forbear  to  mention,  because 
you  are  not  able  to  answer  those  of  which  I 
make  no  secret  ;  but  I  find  my  visits  here  are 
become  troublesome,  I  '11  take  my  leave 
therefore  now,  and  perhaps  come  once  more  to 
take  a  final  farewell  when  I  am  quitting  the 
country."  Thus  saying,  he  took  up  his  hat, 
nor  could  the  attempts  of  Sophia,  whose  looks 
seemed  to  upbraid  his  precipitancy,  prevent  his 
going. 

When  gone,  we  all  regarded  each  other  for 
some  minutes  with  confusion.  My  wife,  who 
knew  herself  to  be  the  cause,  strove  hard  to 
hide  her  concern  with  a  forced  smile  and  an 
air  of  assurance,  which  I  was  willing  to  reprove. 
"How,  woman  !  "  cried  I  to  her,  "is  it  thus  we 
treat  strangers  ?  Is  it  thus  we  return  their 
kindness?  Be  assured,  my  dear,  that  these 
were  the  harshest  words,  and  to  me  the  most 
unpleasing,  that  ever  escaped  your  lips  !  " — 
"  \Vh^  would  he  provoke  me  then?"  replied 


^be  l^lcac  of  MaftettelD  99 


she  ;  ' '  but  I  know  the  motives  of  his  advice 
perfectly  well.  He  would  prevent  my  girls 
from  going  to  town,  that  he  may  have  the 
pleasure  of  my  3^oungest  daughter's  company 
here  at  home.  But  whatever  happens,  she 
shall  choose  better  company  than  such  low- 
lived fellows  as  he." — "Low-lived,  my  dear,  do 
you  call  him?"  cried  I;  "it  is  very  possible 
we  may  mistake  this  man's  character  ;  for  he 
seems  upon  some  occasions  the  most  finished 
gentleman  I  ever  knew.  Tell  me,  Sophia,  my 
girl,  has  he  ever  given  you  any  secret  instances 
of  his  attachment  ?  " — "  His  conversation  with 
me,  sir,"  replied  my  daughter,  "  has  ever  been 
sensible,  modest,  and  pleasing.  As  to  aught 
else,  no,  never.  Once,  indeed,  I  remember  to 
have  heard  him  say  he  never  knew  a  woman 
who  could  find  merit  in  a  man  that  seemed 
poor." — "  Such,  my  dear,"  cried  I,  "is  the  com- 
mon cant  of  all  the  unfortunate  or  idle.  But  I 
hope  you  have  been  taught  to  judge  properly  of 
such  men,  and  that  it  would  be  even  madness 
to  expect  happiness  from  one  who  has  been  so 
very  bad  an  economist  of  his  own.  Your 
mother  and  I  have  now  better  prospects  for 
you.  The  next  winter,  which  you  will  prob- 
ably spend  in  town,  will  give  you  opportunities 
of  making  a  more  prudent  choice." 
What  Sophia's  reflections  were    upon    this 


Zbc  IDicar  of  WLaJ^efici^ 


occasion  I  can't  pretend  to  determine ;  but  I 
was  not  displeased  at  the  bottom  that  we  were  rid 
of  a  guest  from  whom  I  had  much  to  fear.  Our 
breach  of  hospitaUty  went  to  my  conscience  a 
little ;  but  I  quickly  silenced  that  monitor  by 
two  or  three  specious  reasons,  which  served  to 
satisfy  and  reconcile  me  to  myself.  The  pain 
which  conscience  gives  the  man  who  has 
already  done  wrong,  is  soon  got  over.  Con- 
science is  a  coward,  and  those  faults  it  has  not 
strength  enough  to  prevent,  it  seldom  has 
justice  enough  to  accuse. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Fresh  Mortifications,  or  a  Demonstration  that  Seeming 
Calamities  may  be  Real  Blessings. 

THE  journey  of  my  daughters  to  town  was 
now  resolved  upou,  Mr.  Thornbill  having 
kindly  promised  to  inspect  their  conduct  him- 
self, and  inform  us  by  letter  of  their  behavior. 
But  it  was  thought  indispensably  necessary 
that  their  appearance  should  equal  the  great- 
ness of  their  expectations,  which  could  not  be 
done  without  expense.  We  debated,  therefore, 
in  full  council  what  were  the  easiest  methods 
of  raising  money  ;  or,  more  properly  speaking, 
what  we  could  most  conveniently  sell.  The 
deliberation  was  soon  finished.  It  was  found 
that  our  remaining  horse  was  utterly  useless  for 
the  plough,  without  his  companion,  and  equal- 
ly unfit  for  the  road,  as  wanting  an  eye  ;  it  was 
therefore  determined  that  we  should  dispose  of 
him  for  the  purposes  above-mentioned,  at  the 
neighboring  fair,  and,  to  prevent  imposition, 
that  I  should  go  with  him  myself.  Though  this 
was  one  of  the  first  mercantile  transactions  of 


^be  Dicar  of  limakeflelD 


my  life,  yet  I  had  no  doubt  about  acquitting 
myself  with  reputation.  The  opinion  a  man 
forms  of  his  own  prudence  is  measured  by  that 
of  the  company  he  keeps  ;  and  as  mine  was 
mostly  in  the  family  way,  I  had  conceived  no 
unfavorable  sentiments  of  my  worldly  wisdom. 
My  wife,  however,  next  morning  at  parting, 
after  I  had  got  some  paces  from  the  door,  called 
me  back  to  advise  me,  in  a  whisper,  to  have  all 
my  eyes  about  me. 

I  had,  in  the  usual  forms,  when  I  came  to  the 
fair,  put  my  horse  through  all  his  paces,  but  for 
some  time  had  no  bidders.  At  last  a  chapma  a 
approached,  and,  after  he  had  a  good  while  e5  - 
amined  the  horse  round,  finding  him  blind  o  T 
one  eye,  he  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  him. 
A  second  came  up,  but  obser\nng  he  had  a 
spa\nn,  declared  he  would  not  take  him  for  the 
driving  home.  A  third  perceived  he  had  a 
windgall,  and  would  bid  no  money ;  a  fourth 
knew  by  his  eye  that  he  had  the  botts ;  a  fifth 
wondered  what  a  plague  I  could  do  at  the  fair 
with  a  blind,  spavined,  galled  hack,  that  was 
only  fit  to  be  cut  up  for  a  dog-kennel.  By  this 
time  I  began  to  have  a  most  hearty  contempt 
for  the  poor  animal  myself,  and  was  almost 
ashamed  at  the  approach  of  ever>'  customer ; 
for  though  I  did  not  entirely  believe  all  the 
fellows  told  me,  yet  I  reflected  that  the  number 


trbe  IDlcar  of  Makefielb 


of  witnesses  was  a  strong  presumption  that 
they  were  right ;  and  St.  Gregory,  upon  good 
works,  professes  himself  to  be  of  the  same 
opinion. 


^^t^^ 


THE  VICAR   SHOWING  HIS  HORSE. 

I  was  in  this  mortifying  situation,  when  a 
brother-clergyman,  an  old  acquaintance,  who 
had  also  business  at  the    fair,   came   up,    and 


I04  tbc  Dfcar  of  'Mafictxel5 

shaking  me  by  the  hand,  proposed  adjourning 
to  a  public-house  and  taking  a  glass  of  what- 
ever we  could  get.  I  readily  closed  with  the 
offer,  and  entering  an  ale-house,  we  were  shown 
into  a  little  back  room,  where  there  was  only  a 
venerable  old  man,  who  sat  wholly  intent 
over  a  large  book  which  he  was  reading.  I 
never  in  my  life  saw  a  figure  that  prepossessed 
me  more  favorably.  His  locks  of  silver  gray 
venerably  shaded  his  temples,  and  his  green 
old  age  seemed  to  be  the  result  of  health  and 
benevolence.  However,  his  presence  did  not 
interrupt  our  conversation  ;  my  friend  and  I 
discoursed  on  the  various  turns  of  fortune  we 
had  met,  the  Whistonian  controversy,  my 
last  pamphlet,  the  archdeacon's  reply,  and  the 
hard  measure  that  was  dealt  me.  But  our  at- 
tention was  in  a  short  time  taken  off  by  the 
appearance  of  a  youth  who,  entering  the  room, 
respectfully  said  something  softly  to  the  old 
stranger.  "  Make  no  apologies,  my  child," 
said  the  old  man  ;  "to  do  good  is  a  duty  we 
owe  to  all  our  fellow-creatures  ;  take  this  ;  I  wish 
it  were  more  ;  but  five  pounds  will  relieve  yoirr 
distress,  and  you  are  welcome."  The  modest 
youth  shed  tears  of  gratitude ;  and  yet  his  grati- 
tude was  scarcely  equal  to  mine.  I  could  have 
hugged  the  good  old  man  in  my  arms,  his  be- 
nevolence  pleased  me   so.      He   continued   to 


Zbc  IDlcar  of  'QClakefiel&  105 

read,  and  we  resumed  our  conversation,  until  my 
companion,  after  some  time,  recollecting  that 
he  had  business  to  transact  in  the  fair,  promised 
to  be  soon  back,  adding,  that  he  always  desired 
to  have  as  much  of  Dr.  Primrose's  company 
as  possible.  The  old  gentleman,  hearing  my 
name  mentioned,  seemed  to  look  at  me  with 
attention  for  some  time,  and  when  my  friend 
was  gone,  most  respectfully  demanded  if  I  was 
any  way  related  to  the  great  Primrose,  that 
courageous  monogamist,  who  had  been  the  bul- 
wark of  the  Church.  Never  did  my  heart  feel 
sincerer  rapture  than  at  that  moment.  "Sir," 
cried  I,  "the  applause  of  so  good  a  man,  as  I 
am  sure  you  are,  adds  to  that  happiness  in  my 
breast  which  your  benevolence  has  already 
excited.  You  behold  before  you,  sir,  that  Dr. 
Primrose,  the  monogamist,  whom  you  have 
been  pleased  to  call  great.  You  here  see  that 
unfortunate  divine,  who  has  so  long,  and  it 
would  ill  become  me  to  say,  successfully  fought 
against  the  deuterogamy  of  the  age." — "Sir," 
cried  the  stranger,  struck  with  awe,  "I  fear  I 
have  been  too  familiar  ;  but  you  '11  forgive  my 
curiosity,  sir;  I  beg  pardon." — "Sir,"  cried  I, 
grasping  his  hand,  "you  are  so  far  from  dis- 
pleasing me  by  your  familiarity,  that  I  must 
beg  you  '11  accept  my  friendship,  as  you  already 
have    my   esteem." — "Then   with   gratitude   I 


io6  trbe  IDicar  of  Maf^efielO 

accept  the  offer,"  cried  he,  squeezing  me  by  the 
hand,  ' '  thou  glorious  pillar  of  unshaken  ortho- 
doxy ;  and  do  I  behold . ' '    I  here  interrupted 

what  he  was  going  to  say  ;  for  though,  as  an 
author,  I  could  digest  no  small  share  of  flattery, 
yet  now  my  modesty  would  permit  no  more. 
However,  no  lovers  in  romance  ever  cemented 
a  more  instantaneous  friendship.  We  talked 
upon  several  subjects  :  at  first  I  thought  he 
seemed  rather  devout  than  learned,  and  began 
to  think  he  despised  all  human  doctrines  as 
dross.  Yet  this  no  way  lessened  him  in  my 
esteem  ;  for  I  had  for  some  time  begun  privately 
to  harbor  such  an  opinion  myself.  I  therefore 
took  occasion  to  observe  that  the  world  in 
general  began  to  be  blamably  indifferent  as  to 
doctrinal  matters,  and  followed  human  specvda- 
tions  too  much.  ' '  Ay,  sir, ' '  replied  he, — as  if  he 
had  reserved  all  his  learning  to  that  moment, — 
"Ay,  sir,  the  world  is  in  its  dotage  ;  and  yet  the 
cosmogony  or  creation  of  the  world  has  puzzled 
philosophers  of  all  ages.  What  a  medley  of 
opinions  have  they  not  broached  upon  the  cre- 
ation of  the  world  !  Sanchoniathon,  Manetho, 
Berosus,  and  Ocellus  Lucanus  have  all  attempted 
it  in  vain.  The  latter  has  these  words, 'l-jKa/j^ or 
apd  xai  draXevzaiov  to  Ttdv,  which  imply  that 
all  things  have  neither  beginning  nor  end.  Ma- 
netho also,  who  lived  about  the  time  of  Nebu- 


trbe  Dicar  of  maF^efielJ)  107 

chadon-Asser,  —  Asser  being  a  Syriac  word, 
usually  applied  as  a  surname  to  the  kings  of 
that  country,  as  Teglat  Phael- Asser,  Nabon- 
Asser, — he,  I  say,  formed  a  conjecture  equally 
absurd :  for,  as  we  usually  say,  ex  to  fiifiXiov 
HvftepvrjT}]^,  which  implies  that  books  will  never 
teach  the  w^orld  ;  so  he  attempted  to  investigate 

but,  sir,  I  ask  pardon,  I  am  straying  from  the 

question."  That  he  actually  was  ;  nor  could  I 
for  my  life  see  how  the  creation  of  the  world 
had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  business  I  was 
talking  of ;  but  it  was  sufficient  to  show  me  that 
he  was  a  man  of  letters,  and  I  now  reverenced 
him  the  more.  I  was  resolved  therefore  to 
bring  him  to  the  touch-stone  ;  but  he  was  too 
mild  and  too  gentle  to  contend  for  victory. 
Whenever  I  made  any  observation  that  looked 
like  a  challenge  to  controversy,  he  w^ould  smile, 
shake  his  head,  and  say  nothing  ;  by  w^hich  I 
understood  he  could  say  much,  if  he  thought 
proper.  The  subject  therefore  insensibly 
changed  from  the  business  of  antiquity  to  that 
which  brought  us  both  to  the  fair  ;  mine  I  told 
him  was  to  sell  a  horse,  and  very  luckily  indeed, 
his  was  to  buy  one  for  one  of  his  tenants.  My 
horse  w^as  soon  produced,  and  in  fine  we  struck 
a  bargain.  Nothing  now  remained  but  to  pay 
me,  and  he  accordingly  pulled  out  a  thirty- 
pound  note,  and  bid  me  change  it.     Not  being 


io8  trbe  Dicar  ot  WiakcUcl^ 

in  a  capacity  of  complying  with  his  demand,  he 
ordered  his  footman  to  be  called  up,  who  made 
his  appearance  in  a  very  genteel  livery.  ' '  Here, 
Abraham,"  cried  he,  "  go  and  get  gold  for  this  ; 
you  '11  do  it  at  neighbor  Jackson's  or  anywhere." 
While  the  fellow  was  gone,  he  entertained  me 
with  a  pathetic  harangue  on  the  great  scarcity 
of  silver,  which  I  undertook  to  improve,  by  de- 
ploring also  the  great  scarcity  of  gold  ;  so  that 
by  the  time  Abraham  returned  we  had  both 
agreed  that  money  was  never  so  hard  to  be 
come  at  as  now.  Abraham  returned  to  inform 
us  that  he  had  been  over  the  whole  fair  and 
could  not  get  change,  though  he  had  offered 
half  a  crown  for  doing  it.  This  was  a  very  great 
disappointment  to  us  all ;  but  the  old  gentleman 
having  paused  a  little,  asked  me  if  I  knew  one 
Solomon  Flamborough  in  my  part  of  the  coun- 
try- ;  upon  replying  that  he  was  my  next-door 
neighbor  :  "  If  that  be  the  case,  then,"  returned 
he,  "  I  believe  we  shall  deal.  You  shall  have  a 
draft  upon  him,  payable  at  sight ;  and,  let  me 
tell  you,  he  is  as  warm  a  man  as  any  within  five 
miles  round  him.  Honest  Solomon  and  I  have 
been  acquainted  for  many  years  together.  I 
remember  I  always  beat  him  at  three  jumps ; 
but  he  could  hop  on  one  leg  farther  than  I."  A 
draft  upon  my  neighbor  was  to  me  the  same  as 
money  ;  for  I  was  sufl&ciently  convinced  of  his 


tbe  Dicar  of  'Maftefiel5  109 

ability.  The  draft  was  signed  and  put  into  my 
hands,  and  Mr.  Jenkinson  (the  old  gentleman), 
his  man  Abraham,  and  my  horse,  old  Black- 
berry, trotted  off  very  well  pleased  with  each 
other. 

After  a  short  interval,  being  left  to  reflection, 
I  began  to  recollect  that  I  had  done  wrong  in 
taking  a  draft  from  a  stranger,  and  so  prudently 
resolved  upon  following  the  purchaser,  and 
having  back  my  horse.  But  this  was  now  too 
late  :  I  therefore  made  directly  homewards,  re- 
solving to  get  the  draft  changed  into  money  at 
my  friend's  as  fast  as  possible.  I  found  my 
honest  neighbor  smoking  his  pipe  at  his  own 
door,  and  informing  him  that  I  had  a  small  bill 
upon  him;  he  read  it  twice  over.  "You  can 
read  the  name,  I  suppose,"  cried  I,  "  Ephraim 
Jenkinson." — "Yes,"  returned  he,  "the  name 
is  written  plain  enough,  and  I  know  the  gentle- 
man too, — the  greatest  rascal  under  the  canopy 
of  heaven.  This  is  the  very  same  rogue  Who 
sold  us  the  spectacles.  Was  he  not  a  venerable- 
looking  man,  with  gray  hair,  and  no  flaps  to 
his  pocket-holes  ?  And  did  he  not  talk  a  long 
string  of  learning,  about  Greek  and  cosmogony 
and  the  world  ?  "  To  this  I  replied  with  a 
groan.  "Ay,"  continued  he,  "  he  has  but  that 
one  piece  of  learning  in  the  world,  and  he 
always    talks    it    away    whenever    he    finds  a 


the  IDlcar  of  malicficlt) 


scholar  in  company ;  but  I  know  the  rogue,  and 
will  catch  him  yet." 

Although  I  w^as  already  sufficiently  mortified, 
my  greatest  struggle  w^as  to  come,  in  facing  my 
wife  and  daughters.  No  truant  was  ever  more 
afraid  of  returning  to  school,  there  to  behold 
the  master's  visage,  than  I  was  of  going  home. 
I  was  determined,  however,  to  anticipate  their 
fury  by  first  falling  into  a  passion  myself. 

But,  alas !  upon  entering,  I  found  the  family 
no  way  disposed  for  battle.  My  wife  and  girls 
were  all  in  tears,  Mr.  Thornhill  having  been 
there  that  day  to  inform  them  that  their  jour- 
ney to  town  was  entirely  over.  The  two  ladies 
having  heard  reports  of  us  from  some  malicious 
person  about  us,  were  that  day  set  out  for  Lon- 
don. He  could  neither  discover  the  tendency 
nor  the  author  of  these  ;  but  whatever  they 
might  be,  or  whoever  might  have  broached 
them,  he  continued  to  assure  our  family  of  his 
friendship  and  protection.  I  found,  therefore, 
that  they  bore  m}^  disappointment  with  great 
resignation,  as  it  was  eclipsed  in  the  greatness 
of  their  own.  But  what  perplexed  us  most  was 
to  think  who  could  be  so  base  as  to  asperse  the 
character  of  a  family  so  harmless  as  ours,  too 
humble  to  excite  envy,  and  too  inoffensive  to 
create  disgust. 


l^t< 


^^^m'^^^e^^. 


i^^Sk"'^' 


CHAPTER  XV. 

All  Mr.  Burchell's  Villainy  at  Once  Detected— The  Folly 
of  Being  Over- Wise. 

THAT  evening  and  a  part  of  the  following 
day  was  employed  in  fruitless  attempts  to 
discover  our  enemies  :  scarcely  a  family  in  the 
neighborhood  but  incurred  our  suspicions,  and 
each  of  us  had  reasons  for  our  opinion  best 
known  to  ourselves.  As  we  were  in  this  per- 
plexity, one  of  our  little  boys,  who  had  been 
playing  abroad,  brought  in  a  letter-case,  which 
he  found  on  the  green.  It  was  quickly  known 
to  belong  to  Mr.  Burchell,  with  whom  it  had 
been  seen,  and,  upon  examination,  contained 
some  hints  upon  different  subjects  ;  but  what 
particularly  engaged  our  attention  was  a  sealed 
note,  superscribed  "  The  copy  of  a  letter  to  be 
sent  to  the  two  ladies  at  Thornhill  Castle."  It 
instantly  occurred  that  he  was  the  base  in- 
former, and  we  deliberated  whether  the  note 
should  not  be  broken  open.  I  was  against  it ; 
but  Sophia,  who  said  she  was  sure  that  of  all 
raen  he  would  be  the  last  to  be  guilty  of  so 


Zhc  Dicar  of  WaftefielD 


mucli  baseness,  insisted  upon  its  being  read. 
In  this  she  was  seconded  by  the  rest  of  the 
family,  and,  at  their  joint  solicitation,  I  read  as 
follows: 

"Ladies  : 

"  The  bearer  will  sufficiently  satisfy  you  as  to 
the  person  from  whom  this  comes  :  one  at  least 
the  friend  of  innocence,  and  ready  to  prevent 
its  being  seduced.  I  am  informed  for  a  truth, 
that  you  have  some  intention  of  bringing  two 
young  ladies  to  town,  whom  I  have  some  knowl- 
edge of,  under  the  character  of  companions.  As 
I  would  neither  have  simplicit}^  imposed  upon, 
nor  virtue  contaminated,  I  must  o£fer  it  as  my 
opinion,  that  the  impropriety  of  such  a  step 
will  be  attended  with  dangerous  consequences. 
It  has  never  been  my  way  to  treat  the  infamous 
or  the  lewd  with  severity  ;  nor  should  I  now 
have  taken  this  method  of  explaining  myself, 
or  reproving  folly,  did  it  not  aim  at  guilt. 
Take,  therefore,  the  admonition  of  a  friend, 
and  seriously  reflect  on  the  consequences  of  in- 
troducing infamy  and  ^nce  into  retreats  where 
peace  and  innocence  have  hitherto  resided." 

Our  doubts  were  now  at  an  end.  There  seemed, 
indeed,  something  applicable  to  both  sides  in 
this  letter,  and  its  censures  might  as  well  be  re- 


tTbe  Dfcar  of  makefielD 


"3 


ferred  to  those  to  whom  it  was  written,  as  to  us  ; 
but  the  malicious  meaning  was  obvious,  and  we 
went  no  farther.     My  wife  had  scarcely  patience 


burchell's  pocket-book  found. 

to  hear  me  to  the  end,  but  railed  at  the  writer 
-svith  unrestrained  resentment.  Olivia  was 
equally   severe,  and   Sophia  seemed  perfectly 


114  ^be  tDicar  ot  TlXIla?ieficlO 

amazed  at  his  baseness.  As  for  my  part,  it  ap- 
peared to  me  one  of  the  vilest  instances  of 
unprovoked  ingratitude  I  had  met  with.  Nor 
could  I  account  for  it  in  any  other  manner  than 
by  imputing  it  to  his  desire  of  detaining  my 
youngest  daughter  in  the  country,  to  have  the 
more  frequent  opportunities  of  an  interview. 
In  this  manner  we  all  sat  ruminating  upon 
schemes  of  vengeance,  when  our  other  little 
boy  came  running  in  to  tell  us  that  Mr. 
Burchell  was  approaching  at  the  other  end  of 
the  field.  It  is  easier  to  conceive  than  describe 
the  complicated  sensations  which  are  felt  from 
the  pain  of  a  recent  injury,  and  the  pleasure  c»f 
approaching  vengeance.  Though  our  intetv- 
tions  were  only  to  upbraid  him  with  his  ingrat- 
itude, yet  it  was  resolved  to  do  it  in  a  manner 
that  would  be  perfectly  cutting.  For  this  pur- 
pose we  agreed  to  meet  him  with  our  usual 
smiles,  to  chat  in  the  beginning  with  more 
than  ordinary  kindness,  to  amuse  him  a  little  ; 
and  then  in  the  midst  of  the  flattering  calm  to 
burst  upon  him  like  an  earthquake,  and  over- 
whelm him  with  the  sense  of  his  own  baseness. 
This  being  resolved  upon,  my  wife  undertook 
to  manage  the  business  herself,  as  she  really 
had  some  talents  for  such  an  undertaking.  We 
saw  him  approach  ;  he  entered,  drew  a  chair, 
and  sat  down.      "A  fine  day,  Mr.  Burchell." — 


^be  IDicar  of  MaJieflelD  115 

**  A  very  fine  day,  Doctor  ;  though  I  fancy  we 
shall  have  some  rain  by  the  shooting  of  my 
corns." — "  The  shooting  of  your  horns  !  "  cried 
my  wife,  in  a  loud  fit  of  laughter,  and  then 
asked  pardon  for  being  fond  of  a  joke. — "  Dear 
madam, ' '  replied  he,  ' '  I  pardon  you  with  all 
my  heart ;  for  I  protest  I  should  not  have 
thought  it  a  joke  had  you  not  told  me." — "  Per- 
haps not,  sir,"  cried  my  wife,  winking  at  us, 
**  and  yet  I  dare  say  you  can  tell  us  how  many 
jokes  go  to  an  ounce." — "  I  fancy,  madam,"  re- 
turned Burchell,  "you  have  been  reading  a  jest- 
book  this  morning,  that  ounce  of  jokes  is  so 
very  good  a  conceit ;  and  yet,  madam,  I  had 
rather  see  half  an  ounce  of  understanding." — "  I 
believe  you  might,"  cried  my  wife,  still  smiling 
at  us,  though  the  laugh  was  against  her  ;  "  and 
yet  I  have  seen  some  men  pretend  to  understand- 
ing that  have  very  little. ' ' — ' '  And  no  doubt, ' '  re- 
plied her  antagonist,  ' '  you  have  known  ladies 
set  up  for  wit  that  had  none."  I  quickly  began 
to  find  that  my  wife  was  likely  to  gain  but  little 
at  this  business  ;  so  I  resolved  to  treat  him  in  a 
style  of  more  severit}'  myself.  "  Both  wit  and 
understanding,"  cried  I,  "  are  trifles  without  in- 
tegrity ;  it  is  that  which  gives  value  to  every 
character.  The  ignorant  peasant,  without  fault, 
is  greater  than  the  philosopher  with  many  ;  for 
what  is  genius   or   courage   without  a  heart  ? 


ii6  XLhc  Dicar  ot  "MafteflelD 

*An  honest  man  is  the  noblest  work  of 
God.'  " 

' '  I  always  held  that  hackneyed  maxim  of 
Pope,"  retmmed  Mr.  Burchell,  "as  very  un- 
worthy of  a  man  of  genius,  and  a  base  deser- 
tion of  his  own  superiority.  As  the  reputation 
of  books  is  raised  not  by  their  freedom  from  de- 
fect, but  the  greatness  of  their  beauties  ;  so 
should  that  of  men  be  prized  not  for  their  ex- 
emption from  fault,  but  the  size  of  those  Adrtues 
they  are  possessed  of.  The  scholar  may  want 
prudence,  the  statesman  may  have  pride,  and 
the  champion  ferocity  ;  but  shall  we  prefer  to 
these  the  low  mechanic,  who  laboriously  plods 
on  through  life,  without  censure  or  applause  ? 
We  might  as  well  prefer  the  tame,  correct  paint- 
ings of  the  Flemish  school  to  the  erroneous  but 
sublime  animations  of  the  Roman  pencil." 

"Sir,"  replied  I,  "your  present  obsen,^ation 
is  just,  when  there  are  shining  \'irtues  and  mi- 
nute defects  ;  but  when  it  appears  that  great 
vices  are  opposed  in  the  same  mind  to  as  extra- 
ordinary \T^rtues,  such  a  character  deserves  con- 
tempt." 

"Perhaps,"  cried  he,  "there  may  be  some 
such  monsters  as  3-ou  describe,  of  great  vices 
joined  to  great  virtues  ;  yet  in  my  progress 
through  life  I  never  yet  found  one  instance  of 
their  existence  ;   on  the  contrary,  I  have  ever 


Zbc  IDicar  of  makefielD  n? 

perceived  that  where  the  mind  was  capacious 
the  affections  were  good.  And,  indeed,  Provi- 
dence seems  kindly  our  friend  in  this  particular, 
thus  to  debilitate  the  understanding  where  the 
heart  is  corrupt,  and  diminish  the  power  where 
there  is  the  will  to  do  mischief.  This  rule 
seems  to  extend  even  to  other  animals  :  the 
little  vermin  race  are  ever  treacherous,  cruel, 
and  cowardly,  whilst  those  endowed  with 
strength  and  power,  are  generous,  brave,  and 
gentle. ' ' 

"These  observations  sound  well,"  returned  I, 
* '  and  yet  it  would  be  easy  this  moment  to 
point  out  a  man,"  and  I  fixed  my  eye  stead- 
fastly upon  him,  "  whose  head  and  heart  form 
a  most  detestable  contrast.  Ay,  sir,"  continued 
1,  raising  my  voice,  ' '  and  I  am  glad  to  have  this 
opportunity  of  detecting  him  in  the  midst  of 
his  fancied  security.  Do  you  know  this,  sir, 
this  pocket-book?" — "Yes,  sir,"  returned  he, 
with  a  face  of  impenetrable  assurance,  "that 
pocket-book  is  mine,  and  I  am  glad  you  have 
found  it." — "And  do  you  know,"  cried  I, 
"  this  letter?  Nay,  never  falter,  man,  but  look 
me  full  in  the  face  ;  I  say,  do  you  know  this 
letter?" — "  That  letter, "  returned  he,  "yes,  it 
was  I  that  wrote  that  letter." — "  And  how  could 
you,"  said  I,  "so  basely,  so  ungratefully  pre- 
sume to  write  this  letter  ?  " — "  And  how  came 


ii8  Zbc  IDlcar  of  MafieflclD 

you,"  replied  he,  with  looks  of  unparalleled  ef- 
frontery, '  *  so  basely  to  presume  to  break  open 
this  letter?  Don't  you  know,  now,  I  could 
hang  you  all  for  this  ?  All  that  I  have  to  do  is 
to  swear  at  the  next  justice's  that  you  have 
been  guilty  of  breaking  open  the  lock  of  my 
pocket-book,  and  so  hang  you  all  up  at  this 
door."  This  piece  of  unexpected  insolence 
raised  me  to  such  a  pitch  that  I  could  scarcely 
govern  my  passion.  "Ungrateful  wretch,  be- 
gone !  and  no  longer  pollute  my  dwelling  with 
thy  baseness  ;  begone,  and  never  let  me  see 
thee  again  !  go  from  my  doors,  and  the  only 
punishment  I  wish  thee  is  an  alarmed  con- 
science, which  will  be  a  sufficient  tormentor  !  " 
vSo  saying,  I  threw  him  his  pocket-book,  which 
he  took  up  with  a  smile,  and,  shutting  the 
clasps  with  the  utmost  composure,  left  us  quite 
astonished  at  the  serenity  of  his  assurance. 
My  wife  was  particularly  enraged  that  nothing 
could  make  him  angry,  or  make  him  seem 
ashamed  of  his  villainies.  "My  dear,"  cried 
I,  willing  to  calm  those  passions  that  had  been 
raised  too  high  among  us,  "  we  are  not  to  be 
surprised  that  bad  men  want  shame  ;  they  only 
blush  at  being  detected  in  doing  good,  but  glory 
in  their  vices. 

"  Guilt  and  Shame,"  says  the  allegory,  "  were 
at  first  companions,  and  in  the  beginning  of 


Zbc  tDicar  of  Makefiel^  119 


their  journey  inseparably  kept  together.  But 
their  union  was  soon  found  to  be  disagreeable 
and  inconvenient  to  both  :  Guilt  gave  Shame 
frequent  uneasiness,  and  Shame  often  betrayed 
the  secret  conspiracies  of  Guilt.  After  long 
disagreement,  therefore,  they  at  length  con- 
sented to  part  for  ever.  Guilt  boldly  walked 
forward  alone  to  overtake  Fate,  that  went  be- 
fore in  the  shape  of  an  executioner  ;  but  Shame 
being  naturally  timorous,  returned  back  to  keep 
company  with  Virtue,  which,  in  the  beginning  of 
their  journey,  they  had  left  behind.  Thus,  my 
children,  after  men  have  travelled  through  a 
few  stages  in  vice.  Shame  forsakes  them  and 
returns  back  to  wait  upon  the  few  virtues  they 
have  still  remaining-." 


:?t3 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Family  Use  Art ;    Which  is    Opposed    with    Still 
Greater. 


WHATEVER  might  have  been  Sophia's 
sensations,  the  rest  of  the  family  was 
easily  consoled  for  Mr.  Burchell's  absence  by 
the  company  of  our  landlord,  whose  visits  now 
became  more  frequent  and  longer.  Though  he 
had  been  disappointed  in  procuring  my  daugh- 
ters the  amusements  of  the  town  as  he  designed, 
he  took  every  opportunity  of  supplying  them 
with  those  little  recreations  which  our  retire- 
ment would  admit  of.  He  usually  came  in  the 
morning,  and  while  my  son  and  I  followed  our 
occupations  abroad,  he  sat  with  the  family  at 
home,  and  amused  them  by  describing  the 
town,  with  every  part  of  which  he  was  particu- 
larly acquainted.  He  could  repeat  all  the  ob- 
servations that  were  retailed  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  play-houses,  and  had  all  the  good  things 
of  the  high  wits  by  rote  long  before  they  made 


tlbe  IDicar  of  malftefielD 


their  way  into  the  jest-books.  The  intervals 
between  conversation  were  employed  in  teach- 
ing my  danghters  piquet,  or  sometimes  in  set- 


NEARLY  OF    A    SIZE. 


ting  my  two  little  ones  to  box,  to  make  them 
sharp,  as  he  called  it ;  but  the  hopes  of  having 
him  for  a  son-in-law  in  some  measure  blinded 


122  tibe  IDicar  of  "CClaliefielt) 

us  to  all  his  imperfections.  It  must  be  owned 
that  my  wife  laid  a  thousand  schemes  to  entrap 
him  ;  or,  to  speak  it  more  tenderly,  used  every  art 
to  magnify  the  merit  of  her  daughter.  If  the 
cakes  at  tea  ate  short  and  crisp,  they  were  made 
b}'  01i\na  ;  if  the  gooseberry  wine  was  well  knit, 
the  gooseberries  were  of  her  gathering  ;  it  was 
her  fingers  which  gave  the  pickles  their  peculi- 
ar green  ;  and  in  the  composition  of  a  pudding, 
it  was  her  judgment  that  mixed  the  ingre- 
dients. Then  the  poor  woman  would  some- 
times tell  the  'Squire  that  she  thought  him  and 
Olivia  extremely  of  a  size,  and  would  bid  both 
stand  up  to  see  which  was  tallest.  These  in- 
stances of  cunning,  which  she  thought  impene- 
trable, yet  which  everj'body  saw  through,  were 
very  pleasing  to  our  benefactor,  who  gave  every 
day  some  new  proofs  of  his  passion,  which, 
though  they  had  not  arisen  to  proposals  of 
marriage,  yet  we  thought  fell  but  little  short  c»f 
it ;  and  his  slowness  we  attributed  sometimes  to 
native  bashfulness,  and  sometimes  to  his  fear 
of  offending  his  uncle.  An  occurrence,  how- 
ever, which  happened  soon  after,  put  it  beyond 
a  doubt  that  he  designed  to  become  one  of  our 
family  ;  my  wife  even  regarded  it  as  an  absolute 
promise. 

My  wife  and  daughters  happening  to  return  a 
visit  to   neighbor   Flamborough's,   found  that 


trbe  Dlcar  of  'Makeftel^  123 

family  had  lately  got  their  pictures  drawn  by  a 
limner,  who  travelled  the  country  and  took 
likenesses  for  fifteen  shillings  a  head.  As  this 
family  and  ours  had  long  a  sort  of  rivalry  in 
point  of  taste,  our  spirit  took  the  alarm  at  this 
stolen  march  upon  us,  and  notwithstanding  all 
I  could  say,  and  I  said  much,  it  was  resolved 
that  we  should  have  our  pictures  done  too. 
Having,  therefore,  engaged  the  limner,  (for 
what  could  I  do  ? )  our  next  deliberation  was 
to  show  the  superiority  of  our  taste  in  the  atti- 
tudes. As  for  our  neighbor's  family,  there 
\«ere  seven  of  them,  and  they  were  drawn  with 
seven  oranges, — a  thing  quite  out  of  taste,  no 
variety  in  life,  no  composition  in  the  world. 
\^'e  desired  to  have  something  in  a  brighter 
style,  and,  after  many  debates,  at  length  came 
to  an  unanimous  resolution  of  being  drawn  to- 
gether in  one  large  historical  family  piece. 
This  would  be  cheaper,  since  one  frame  would 
serve  for  all,  and  it  would  be  infinitely  more 
genteel ;  for  all  families  of  any  taste  were  now 
drawn  in  the  same  manner.  As  we  did  not 
immediately  recollect  an  historical  subject  to 
hit  us,  we  were  contented  each  with  being 
drawn  as  independent  historical  figures.  My 
wife  desired  to  be  represented  as  Venus,  and 
the  painter  was  desired  not  to  be  too  frugal  of 
Jiis  diamonds  in  her  stomacher  and  hair.     Her 


124  ^be  Dicar  of  1iClaFiefiel5 

two  little  ones  were  to  be  as  Cupids  by  her  side, 
while  I,  in  my  gown  and  band,  was  to  present 
her  with  my  books  on  the  Whistonian  contro- 
versy. Olivia  would  be  drawn  as  an  Amazon, 
sitting  upon  a  bank  of  flowers,  dressed  in  a 
green  Joseph,  richly  laced  with  gold,  and  a 
whip  in  her  hand.  Sophia  was  to  be  a  shep- 
herdess, with  as  many  sheep  as  the  painter  could 
put  in  for  nothing  ;  and  Moses  was  to  be  dressed 
out  with  a  hat  and  white  feather.  Our  taste  so 
much  pleased  the  'Squire  that  he  insisted  on 
being  put  in  as  one  of  the  family  in  the  charac- 
ter of  Alexander  the  Great  at  Olivia's  feet.  This 
was  considered  by  us  all  as  an  indication  of  his 
desire  to  be  introduced  into  the  family,  ncir 
could  we  refuse  his  request.  The  painter  was 
therefore  set  to  work,  and,  as  he  wrought  with 
assiduity  and  expedition,  in  less  than  four  days 
the  whole  was  completed.  The  piece  was  large, 
and  it  must  be  owned  he  did  not  spare  his  col- 
ors ;  for  which  my  wife  gave  him  great  en- 
comiums. We  were  all  perfectly  satisfied  with 
his  performance ;  but  an  unfortunate  circum- 
stance had  not  occurred  till  the  picture  was 
finished,  which  now  struck  us  with  dismay.  It 
was  so  very  large  that  we  had  no  place  in  the 
house  to  fix  it !  How  we  all  came  to  disregard 
so  material  a  point  is  inconceivable  ;  but  certain 
it  is,  we  had  been  all  greatly  remiss.     The  pic- 


^be  Dicar  of  'Maf^efielD  125 

ture,  therefore,  instead  of  gratifying  our  vanity, 
as  we  hoped,  leaned  in  a  most  mortifying  man- 
ner against  the  kitchen  wall,  where  the  canvas 
was  stretched  and  painted,  much  too  large  to 
be  got  through  any  of  the  doors,  and  the  jest  of 
all  our  neighbors.  One  compared  it  to  Robin- 
son Crusoe's  long-boat,  too  large  to  be  removed  ; 
another  thought  it  more  resembled  a  reel  in  a 
bottle  ;  some  wondered  how  it  could  be  got  out, 
but  still  more  were  amazed  how  it  ever  got  in. 

But  though  it  excited  the  ridicule  of  some,  it 
effectually  raised  more  malicious  suggestions  in 
many.  The  'Squire's  portrait  being  found 
united  with  ours,  was  an  honor  too  great  to 
escape  envy.  Scandalous  whispers  began  to 
circulate  at  our  expense,  and  our  tranquilHty 
was  continually  disturbed  by  persons  who  came 
as  friends  to  tell  us  what  was  said  of  us  by  ene- 
mies. These  reports  we  always  resented  with 
becoming  spirit ;  but  scandal  ever  improves  by 
opposition. 

We  once  again,  therefore,  entered  into  a  con- 
sultation upon  ob^-iating  the  malice  of  our  ene- 
mies, and  at  last  came  to  a  resolution  which  had 
too  much  cunning  to  give  me  entire  satisfaction. 
It  was  this  :  as  our  principal  object  was  to  dis- 
cover the  honor  of  Mr.  Thomhill's  addresses, 
my  wife  undertook  to  sound  him,  by  pretending 
to  ask  his  advice  in  the  choice  of  a  husband  for 


126  trbe  IDicar  of  113aanefiel& 

her  eldest  daughter.  If  this  was  not  found  suf- 
ficient to  induce  him  to  a  declaration,  it  was 
then  resolved  to  terrify  him  wnth  a  rival.  To 
this  last  step,  however,  I  would  by  no  means 
give  my  consent,  till  Olivia  gave  me  the  most 
solemn  assurances  that  she  would  marry  the 
person  pro\dded  to  rival  him  upon  this  occasion, 
if  he  did  not  prevent  it  by  taking  her  himself 
Such  was  the  scheme  laid,  which,  though  I  did 
not  strenuously  oppose,  I  did  not  entirely  ap- 
prove. 

The  next  time,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Thomhill 
came  to  see  us,  my  girls  took  care  to  be  out  of 
the  way,  in  order  to  give  their  mamma  an  op- 
portunity of  putting  her  scheme  in  execution  ; 
but  they  only  retired  to  the  next  room,  whence 
they  could  overhear  the  whole  conversation. 
My  wife  artfully  introduced  it,  by  observing 
that  one  of  the  Miss  Flamboroughs  was  like  to 
have  a  good  match  of  it  in  Mr.  Spanker.  To 
this  the  'Squire  assenting,  she  proceeded  to  re- 
mark that  they  who  had  warm  fortunes  were 
always  sure  of  getting  good  husbands.  "But 
Heaven  help,"  continued  she,  "the  girls  that 
have  none  !  What  signifies  beauty,  Mr.  Thom- 
hill ?  or  what  signifies  all  the  virtue,  and  all  the 
qualifications  in  the  world,  in  this  age  of  self- 
interest  ?  It  is  not,  what  is  she  ?  but  what  has 
she  ?  is  all  the  cry." 


trbe  IDlcar  of  1KIlaJ?ef[eI&  127 

**  Madam,"  returned  he,  "I  highly  approve 
the  justice,  as  well  as  the  novelty  of  your  re- 
marks, and  if  I  were  a  king  it  should  be  other- 
wise. It  should  then,  indeed,  be  fine  times  with 
the  girls  without  fortunes  :  our  two  young  ladies 
should  be  the  first  for  whom  I  would  provide. ' ' 

"Ah,  sir,"  returned  my  wife,  "you  are  pleased 
to  be  facetious  ;  but  I  wish  I  were  a  queen,  and 
then  I  know  where  my  eldest  daughter  should 
look  for  a  husband.  But  now,  that  you  have 
put  it  into  my  head,  seriously,  Mr.  Thornhill, 
can't  you  recommend  me  a  proper  husband  for 
her?  She  is  now  nineteen  years  old,  well  grown 
and  well  educated,  and,  in  my  humble  opinion, 
does  not  want  for  parts." 

"  Madam,"  replied  he,  "  if  I  were  to  choose,  I 
would  find  out  a  person  possessed  of  every  ac- 
complishment that  can  make  an  angel  happy. 
One  with  prudence,  fortune,  taste,  and  sincerity ; 
such,  madam,  would  be,  in  my  opinion,  the 
proper  husband." — "Ay,  sir,"  said  she,  "but 
do  you  know  of  any  such  person?" — "No, 
madam,"  returned  he,  "it  is  impossible  to  know 
any  person  that  deserves  to  be  her  husband : 
she  *s  too  great  a  treasure  for  one  man's  posses- 
sion :  she  's  a  goddess.  Upon  my  soul,  I  speak 
what  I  think,  she  's  an  angel!" — "Ah,  Mr. 
Thornhill,  you  only  flatter  my  poor  girl ;  but 
we  have  been  thinking  of  marrying  her  to  one 


128  Zhc  Dicar  of  makefielD 

of  your  tenants,  whose  mother  is  lately  dead, 
and  who  wants  a  manager  ;  you  know  whom  I 
mean,  farmer  Williams ;  a  warm  man,  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill,  able  to  give  her  good  bread ;  and  who  has 
several  times  made  her  proposals  (which  was 
actually  the  case) :  but,  sir,"  concluded  she,  "  I 
should  be  glad  to  have  your  approbation  of  our 
choice." — "How!  madam,"  replied  he,  "my 
approbation  !  My  approbation  of  such  a  choice ! 
Never  !  What !  sacrifice  so  much  beauty,  and 
sense,  and  goodness  to  a  creature  insensible  of 
the  blessing  !  Excuse  me,  I  can  never  approve 
of  such  a  piece  of  injustice  !  And  I  have  my 
reasons!" — "Indeed,  sir,"  cried  Deborah,  "if 
you  have  your  reasons,  that  's  another  affair  ; 
but  I  should  be  glad  to  know  those  reasons." — 
"Excuse  me,  madam,"  returned  he,  "they  lie 
too  deep  for  discovery"  ;  (laying  his  hand  upon 
his  bosom)  "they  remain  buried,  riveted,  here." 
After  he  was  gone,  upon  general  consultation, 
we  could  not  tell  what  to  make  of  these  fine 
sentiments.  Olivia  cousidered  them  as  instances 
of  the  most  exalted  passion  ;  but  I  was  not  quite 
so  sanguine.  It  seemed  to  me  pretty  plain,  that 
they  had  more  of  love  than  matrimony  in  them  ; 
yet,  whatever  they  might  portend,  it  was  re- 
solved to  prosecute  the  scheme  of  farmer  Wil- 
liams, who,  from  my  daughter's  first  appearance 
in  the  countr>%  had  paid  her  his  addresses. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Scarcely  Any  Virtue  Found  to  Resist  the  Power  of  I^ong 
and  Pleasing  Temptation. 


AS  I  only  studied  my  child's  real  happiness, 
the  assiduity  of  Mr.  Williams  pleased  me, 
as  he  was  in  easy  circumstances,  prudent,  and 
sincere.  It  required  but  very  little  encourage- 
ment to  revive  his  former  passion  ;  so  that  in 
an  evening  or  two  he  and  Mr.  Thornhill  met  at 
our  house,  and  surveyed  each  other  for  some 
time  with  looks  of  anger ;  but  Williams  owed  his 
landlord  no  rent,  and  little  regarded  his  indig- 
nation. Olivia,  on  her  side,  acted  the  coquette 
to  perfection,  if  that  might  be  called  acting 
which  was  her  real  character,  pretending  to 
lavish  all  her  tenderness  on  her  new  lover.  Mr. 
Thornhill  appeared  quite  dejected  at  this  prefer- 
ence, and  with  a  pensive  air  took  leave  ;  though 
I  own  it  puzzled  me  to  find  him  in  so  much  pain 
as  he  appeared  to  be,  when  he  had  it  in  his 
power  so  easily  to  remove  the  cause  by  declar- 


I30  ^be  Dicar  of  MalkettelO 

ing  an  honorable  passion.  But  whatever  un- 
easiness he  seemed  to  endure,  it  could  easily  be 
perceived  that  Olivia's  anguish  was  still  greater. 
After  any  of  these  interviews  between  her 
lovers,  of  which  there  were  several,  she  usually 
retired  to  solitude,  and  there  indulged  her  grief. 
It  was  in  such  a  situation  I  found  her  one  even- 
ing, after  she  had  been  for  some  time  support- 
ing a  fictitious  gay  ety.  "You  now  see,  my 
child,"  said  I,  "that  your  confidence  in  Mr. 
Thornhill's  passion  was  all  a  dream  ;  he  per- 
mits the  rivalry  of  another,  every  way  his  in- 
ferior, though  he  knows  it  lies  in  his  power  to 
secure  you  to  himself  by  a  candid  declaration." 
— "Yes,  papa,"  returned  she,  "but  he  has  his 
reasons  for  this  delay  :  I  know  he  has.  The 
sincerity  of  his  looks  and  words  convinces  me 
of  his  real  esteem,  A  short  time,  I  hope,  will 
discover  the  generosity  of  his  sentiments,  and 
convince  you  that  my  opinion  of  him  has  been 
more  just  than  yours." — "Olivia,  my  darling," 
returned  I,  "  every  scheme  that  has  been  hither- 
to pursued  to  compel  him  to  a  declaration,  has 
been  proposed  and  planned  by  yourself;  nor 
can  you  in  the  least  say  that  I  have  constrained 
you.  But  you  must  not  suppose,  my  dear,  that 
I  will  ever  be  instrumental  in  suffering  his 
honest  rival  to  be  the  dupe  of  your  ill-placed 
passion.     Whatever  time  you  require  to  bring 


tTbe  IDicar  ot  maftefielD  131 

your  fancied  admirer  to  an  explanation  shall  be 
granted  ;  but  at  the  expiration  of  that  term,  if 
he  is  still  regardless,  I  must  absolutely  insist 
that  honest  Mr.  Williams  shall  be  rewarded  for 
his  fidelity.  The  character  which  I  have  hither- 
to supported  in  life  demands  this  from  me,  and 
my  tenderness  as  a  parent  shall  never  influence 
my  integrity  as  a  man.  Name,  then,  your  day  ; 
let  it  be  as  distant  as  you  think  proper,  and  in 
the  meantime  take  care  to  let  Mr.  Thornhill 
know  the  exact  time  on  which  I  design  deliver- 
ing you  up  to  another.  If  he  really  loves  you, 
his  own  good  sense  will  readily  suggest  that 
there  is  but  one  method  alone  to  prevent  his 
losing  you  forever. "  This  proposal,  which  she 
could  not  avoid  considering  as  perfectly  just, 
was  readily  agreed  to.  She  again  renewed  her 
most  positive  promise  of  marrying  Mr.  Williams 
in  case  of  the  other's  insensibility  ;  and  at  the 
next  opportunity,  in  Mr.  Thornhill's  presence, 
that  day  month  was  fixed  upon  for  her  nuptials 
with  his  rival. 

Such  vigorous  proceedings  seemed  to  re- 
double Mr.  Thornhill's  anxiety ;  but  what 
Olivia  really  felt  gave  me  some  uneasiness.  In 
this  struggle  between  prudence  and  passion, 
her  vivacity  quite  forsook  her,  and  every  op- 
portunity of  solitude  was  sought,  and  spent  in 
tears.     One  week  passed  away  ;  but  Mr.  Thorn- 


132  Zbc  Dicar  ot  MafteticlD 

hill  made  no  efforts  to  restrain  her  nuptials. 
The  succeeding  week  he  was  still  assiduous ; 
but  not  more  open.  On  the  third  he  discon- 
tinued his  visits  entirely ;  and  instead  of  my 
daughter  testifying  any  impatience,  as  I  ex- 
pected, she  seemed  to  retain  a  pensive  tranquil- 
lity, which  I  looked  upon  as  resignation.  For 
my  own  part,  I  was  now  sincerely  pleased  with 
thinking  that  my  child  was  going  to  be  se- 
cured in  a  continuance  of  competence  and 
peace,  and  frequently  applauded  her  resolution, 
in  preferring  happiness  to  ostentation. 

It  was  within  about  four  days  of  her  intended 
nuptials,  that  my  little  family  at  night  were 
gathered  round  a  charming  fire,  telling  stories  of 
the  past,  and  laying  schemes  for  the  future. 
Busied  in  forming  a  thousand  projects,  and 
laughing  at  whatever  folly  came  uppermost, 
"Well,  Moses,"  cried  I,  "we  shall  soon,  my 
boy,  have  a  wedding  in  the  family  ;  what  is 
your  opinion  of  matters  and  things  in  general  ?  " 
— "  My  opinion,  father,  is  that  all  things  go  on 
very  well  ;  and  I  was  just  now  thinking,  that 
when  sister  Livy  is  married  to  farmer  Williams, 
we  shall  then  have  the  loan  of  his  cider-press 
and  brewing-tubs  for  nothing." — "That  we 
shall,  Moses,"  cried  I,  "and  he  will  sing  us 
'  Death  and  the  Lady  '  to  raise  our  spirits,  into 
the  bargain," — "He  has  taught  that  song  to 


Zbc  Dicar  ot  limal^etielO  133 

our  Dick,"  cried  Moses  ;  "  and  I  think  lie  goes 
through  it  very  prettily. " — "  Does  he  so  ?  "  cried 
I;  "  then  let  us  have  it:  where  is  little  Dick? 
let  him  up  with  it  boldly." — "My  brother 
Dick,"  cried  Bill,  my  youngest,  "  is  just  gone 
out  with  sister  Livy;  but  Mr.  Williams  has 
taught  me  two  songs,  and  I  '11  sing  them  for 
you,  papa.  Which  song  do  you  choose,  'The 
Dying  Swan  '  or  '  The  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a 
Mad  Dog '?  "— "  The  elegy,  child,  by  all  means, ' ' 
said  I ;  "I  never  heard  that  yet ;  and  Deborah, 
my  life,  grief  you  know  is  dry,  let  us  have  a 
bottle  of  the  best  gooseberry-wine,  to  keep  up 
our  spirits.  I  have  wept  so  much  at  all  sorts  of 
elegies  of  late,  that  without  an  enlivening  glass 
I  am  sure  this  will  overcome  me :  and  Sophy, 
love,  take  3'our  guitar,  and  thrum  in  with  the 
boy  a  little." 

AN   ELEGY   ON   THE   DEATH    OF   A   MAD   DOG. 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song, 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short, 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  veas  a  man, 

Of  whom  the  world  might  say, 
That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran, 

Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had, 
To  comfort  friends  and  foes  ; 


134  Zbc  Dicar  of  TDClaF^efielD 

The  naked  every  day  he  clad 
When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found, 

As  many  dogs  there  be, 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 

This  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends  ; 

But  when  a  pique  began, 
The  dog,  to  gain  some  private  ends, 

Went  mad  and  bit  the  man 

Around  from  all  the  neighboring  streets, 
The  wondering  neighbors  ran. 

And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits. 
To  bite  so  good  a  man. 

The  wound  it  seem'd  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Christian  eye  ; 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 
That  showed  the  rogues  they  lied  ; 

The  man  recover'd  of  the  bite. 
The  dog  it  was  that  died. 


"  A  ver}'  good  boy,  Bill,  upon  my  word  ;  and 
an  elegy  that  may  truly  be  called  tragical. 
Come,  my  children,  here  's  Bill's  health,  and 
may  he  one  day  be  a  bishop  !  " 

"With  all  my  heart,"  cried  my  wife;  "and 
if  he  but  preaches  as  well  as  he  sings,  I  make 


zrbe  Dicar  of  WafteffclD  135 

no  doubt  of  him.  The  most  of  his  family,  by 
the  mother's  side,  could  sing  a  good  song:  it 
was  a  common  saying  in  our  country  that  the 
family  of  the  Blenkinsops  could  never  look 
straight  before  them,  nor  the  Hugginsons  blow 
out  a  candle  ;  that  there  were  none  of  the  Gro- 
grams  but  could  sing  a  song,  or  of  the  Marjo- 
rams but  could  tell  a  story." — "  However  that 
be,"  cried  I,  "the  most  vulgar  ballad  of  them 
all  generally  pleases  me  better  than  the  fine 
modern  odes,  and  things  that  petrify  us  in  a 
single  stanza  ;  productions  that  we  at  once  de- 
test and  praise.  Put  the  glass  to  your  brother, 
Moses.  The  great  fault  of  these  elegiasts 
is,  that  they  are  in  despair  for  griefs  that 
give  the  sensible  part  of  mankind  very  little 
pain.  A  lady  loses  her  muff,  her  fan,  or  her  lap- 
dog,  and  so  the  silly  poet  runs  home  to  versify 
the  disaster. ' ' 

"That  may  be  the  mode,"  cried  Moses,  "in 
sublimer  compositions ;  but  the  Ranelagh  songs 
that  come  down  to  us  are  perfectly  familiar,  and 
all  cast  in  the  same  mould  :  Colin  meets  Dolly, 
and  they  hold  a  dialogue  together  ;  he  gives  her 
a  fairing  to  put  in  her  hair,  and  she  presents 
him  with  a  nosegay ;  and  then  they  go  together 
to  church,  where  they  give  good  advice  to  young 
nymphs  and  swains  to  get  married  as  fast  as 
they  can." 


136  XLbc  IDicar  of  'Ma\{cficlt> 

"And  very  good  advice  too,"  cried  I;  "and 
I  am  told  there  is  not  a  place  in  the  world  where 
advice  can  be  given  with  so  much  propriety  as 
there  ;  for,  as  it  persuades  us  to  marry,  it  also 
furnishes  us  with  a  wife  ;  and  surely  that  must 
be  an  excellent  market,  m}'  boy,  where  we  are 
told  what  we  want,  and  supplied  with  it  when 
wanting." 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Moses,  "and  I  know 
but  of  two  such  markets  for  wives  in  Europe — 
Ranelagh  in  England,  and  Fontarabia  in  Spain. 
The  Spanish  market  is  open  once  a  year,  but 
our  English  wives  are  salable  every  night." 

"You  are  right,  my. boy,"  cried  his  mother. 
"  Old  England  is  the  only  place  in  the  world  for 
husbands  to  get  wives." — "And  for  wives  to 
manage  their  husbands,"  interrupted  I.  "It  is 
a  proverb  abroad,  that  if  a  bridge  were  built 
across  the  sea,  all  the  ladies  of  the  Continent 
would  come  over  and  take  pattern  from  ours ; 
for  there  are  no  such  wives  in  Europe  as  our 
own.  But  let  us  have  one  bottle  more,  Deborah, 
my  life,  and  Moses  give  us  a  good  song.  What 
thanks  do  we  not  owe  to  Heaven  for  thus  be- 
stowing tranquillity,  health,  and  competence. 
I  think  myself  happier  now  than  the  greatest 
monarch  upon  earth.  He  has  no  such  fireside, 
nor  such  pleasant  faces  about  it.  Yes,  Deborah, 
we  are  now  growing  old  ;   but  the  evening  of 


Zhc  Dicar  of  WlakeflcIO 


137 


our  life  is  likely  to  be  liapp3\  We  are  descended 
from  ancestors  that  knew  no  stain,  and  we  shall 
leave  a  good  and  virtuous  race  of  children  be- 


THE   ELOPEMENT. 


hind  us.  While  we  live  they  will  be  our  support 
and  our  pleasure  here,  and  when  we  die  they 
ivill  transmit  our  honor  untainted  to  posterity. 


138  Zhc  IDicar  of  TKHaftcfielD 

Come,  my  son,  we  wait  for  a  song  :  let  us  have 
a  chorus.  But  where  is  my  darling  Olivia? 
That  little  cherub's  voice  is  always  sweetest  in 
the  concert." 

Just  as  I  spoke  Dick  came  running  in  :  "O 
papa,  papa,  she  is  gone  from  us,  she  is  gone 
from  us,  my  sister  Ijvy  is  gone  from  us  for 
ever!" — "Gone,  child!" — "Yes,  she  is  gone 
off  with  two  gentlemen  in  a  post-chaise,  and 
one  of  them  kissed  her,  and  said  he  would  die 
for  her  ;  and  she  cried  very  much,  and  was  for 
coming  back  ;  but  he  persuaded  her  again,  and 
she  went  into  the  chaise,  and  said,  '  O  what 
will  my  poor  papa  do  when  he  knows  I  am  un- 
done ! '  " — "Now,  then,"  cried  I,  "my  children, 
go  and  be  miserable  ;  for  we  shall  never  enjoy 
one  hour  more.  And  O  may  Heaven's  ever- 
lasting fury  light  upon  him  and  his  !  Thus  to 
rob  me  of  my  child  !  And  sure  it  will,  for 
taking  back  my  sweet  innocent  that  I  was  lead- 
ing up  to  heaven.  Such  sincerity  as  my  child 
was  possessed  of  !  But  all  our  earthly  happi- 
ness is  now  over  !  Go,  my  children,  go  and  be 
miserable  and  infamous ;  for  my  heart  is  broken 
within  me!" — "Father,"  cried  my  son,  "is 
this  your  fortitude  ?  " — "  Fortitude,  child  !  Yes, 
he  shall  see  I  have  fortitude!  Bring  me  my 
pistols.  I  '11  pursue  the  traitor.  While  he  is 
on  earth,  I  '11  pursue  him.     Old  as  I  am,  he 


^be  Dicar  of  1imakefiel&  i3<) 

shall  find  I  can  sting  him  yet.  The  villain  ! 
the  perfidious  ^dllain  ! "  I  had  by  this  time 
reached  down  my  pistols,  when  my  poor  wife, 
whose  passions  were  not  so  strong  as  mine, 
caught  me  in  her  arms.  "  My  dearest,  dearest 
husband,"  cried  she,  "the  Bible  is  the  only 
weapon  that  is  fit  for  your  old  hands  now. 
Open  that,  my  love,  and  read  our  anguish  into 
patience,  for  she  has  \'ilely  deceived  us." — "  In- 
deed, sir,"  resumed  my  son,  after  a  pause, 
"  your  rage  is  too  violent  and  unbecoming. 
You  should  be  my  mother's  comforter,  and  you 
increase  her  pain.  It  ill-suited  you  and  your 
reverend  character,  thus  to  curse  your  greatest 
enemy :  you  should  not  have  cursed  him,  villain 
as  he  is." — "I  did  not  curse  him,  child,  did 
I?" — "Indeed,  sir,  you  did;  you  cursed  him 
twice." — "Then  may  Heaven  forgive  me  and 
him  if  I  did.  And  now,  my  son,  I  see  it  was 
more  than  human  benevolence  that  first  taught 
us  to  bless  our  enemies.  Blessed  be  His  holy 
name  for  all  the  good  He  hath  given,  and  for  all 
that  He  hath  taken  away.  But  it  is  not,  it  is  not 
a  small  distress  that  can  wring  tears  from  these 
old  eyes,  that  have  not  wept  for  so  many  years. 
My  child  ! — To  undo  my  darling !  May  con- 
fusion seize Heaven  forgive  me,  what  I  am 

about  to  say  !     You  may  remember,  my  love, 
how  good  she  was,  and  how  charming  ;  till  this 


I40  XLbc  \t)icar  of  11ClaketT(el& ' 

vile  moment  all  her  care  was  to  make  us  happy. 
Had  she  but  died  !  But  she  is  gone,  the  honor 
of  our  family  contaminated,  and  I  must  look 
out  for  happiness  in  other  worlds  than  here. — 
But,  my  child,  you  saw  them  go  off :  perhaps  he 
forced  her  away?  If  he  forced  her,  she  may  yet 
be  innocent." — "Ah,  no,  sir,"  cried  the  child; 
"he  only  kissed  her  and  called  her  his  angel; 
and  she  wept  ver}^  much,  and  leaned  upon  his 
arm,  and  they  drove  oif  very  fast." — "  She  's  an 
ungrateful  creature,"  cried  my  wife,  who  could 
scarcely  speak  for  weeping,  "to  use  us  thus: 
she  never  had  the  least  constraint  put  upon  her 
affections.  The  vile  strumpet  has  basely  de- 
serted her  parents  without  any  provocation, 
thus  to  bring  your  gray  hairs  to  the  grave,  and 
I  must  shortly  follow. ' ' 

In  this  manner  that  night,  the  first  of  our  real 
misfortunes,  was  spent  in  the  bitterness  of  com- 
plaint, and  ill-supported  sallies  of  enthusiasm. 
I  determined  however  to  find  out  her  betrayer, 
wherever  he  was,  and  reproach  his  baseness. 
The  next  morning  we  missed  our  wretched 
child  at  breakfast,  where  she  used  to  give  life 
and  cheerfulness  to  us  all.  My  wife,  as  before, 
attempted  to  ease  her  heart  by  reproaches. 
' '  Never, ' '  cried  she,  ' '  shall  that  vilest  stain  of 
our  family  again  darken  these  harmless  doors. 
I  will  never  call  her  daughter  more.     No,  let 


Zbc  Vicat  of  'UIlaFietT(el&  141 

the  strumpet  live  with  her  vile  seducer  ;  she 
may  bring  us  to  shame,  but  she  shall  never 
more  deceive  us." 

"Wife,"  said  I,  "do  not  talk  thus  hardly; 
my  detestation  of  her  guilt  is  as  great  as  yours  ; 
but  ever  shall  this  house  and  this  heart  be  open 
to  a  poor  returning  repentant  sinner.  The 
sooner  she  returns  from  her  transgression,  the 
more  welcome  shall  she  be  to  me.  For  the 
first  time  the  very  best  may  err  ;  art  may  per- 
suade, and  novelty  spread  out  its  charm.  The 
first  fault  is  the  child  of  simplicity  ;  but  every 
other  the  offspring  of  guilt.  Yes,  the  wretched 
creature  shall  be  welcome  to  this  heart  and  this 
house,  though  stained  with  ten  thousand  vices. 
I  will  again  hearken  to  the  music  of  her  voice, 
again  will  I  hang  fondly  on  her  bosom,  if  I  find 
but  repentance  there.  My  son,  bring  hither 
my  Bible  and  my  staff;  I  will  pursue  her, 
wherever  she  is  ;  and  though  I  cannot  save  her 
from  shame,  I  may  prevent  the  continuance  of 
iniquity." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


The  Pursuit  of  a  Father  to  Reclaim  a  IvOSt  Child  to  Virtue. 


THOUGH  the  child  could  not  describe  the 
gentleman's  person  who  handed  his  sister 
into  the  post-chaise,  yet  my  suspicious  fell  en- 
tirely upon  our  young  landlord,  whose  charac- 
ter for  such  intrigues  was  but  too  well  known. 
I  therefore  directed  my  steps  towards  Thornhill 
Castle,  resolving  to  upbraid  him,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, to  bring  back  my  daughter  ;  but  before  I 
had  reached  his  seat,  I  was  met  by  one  of  my 
parishioners,  who  said  he  saw  a  young  lady  re- 
sembling my  daughter  in  a  post-chaise  with  a 
gentleman,  whom,  by  the  description,  I  could 
only  guess  to  be  Mr.  Burchell,  and  that  they 
drove  very  fast.  This  information,  however,  did 
by  no  means  satisfy  me.  I  therefore  went  to  the 
young  'Squire's,  and  though  it  was  vet  early,  in- 
sisted upon  seeing  him  immediately  :  he  soon 
appeared  with  the  most  open,  familiar  air,  and 
seemed  perfectly  amazed  at  my  daughter's 
elopement,  protesting  upon  his  honor  that  he 


^be  IDicar  of  WaliefieK)  143 

was  quite  a  stranger  to  it.  I  now  therefore  con- 
demned my  former  suspicions,  and  could  turn 
them  only  on  Mr.  Burchell,  who  I  recollected 
had  of  late  several  private  conferences  with  her  ; 
but  the  appearance  of  another  witness  left  me 
no  room  to  doubt  his  villainy,  who  averred  that 
he  and  my  daughter  had  actually  gone  towards 
the  Wells,  about  thirty  miles  off,  where  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  company. 

Being  driven  to  that  state  of  mind  in  which 
we  are  more  ready  to  act  precipitately  than  to 
reason  right,  I  never  debated  with  myself 
whether  these  accounts  might  not  have  been 
given  by  persons  purposely  placed  in  my  way 
to  mislead  me,  but  resolved  to  pursue  my 
daughter  and  her  fancied  deluder  thither.  I 
walked  along  with  earnestness,  and  inquired  of 
several  by  the  way  ;  but  received  no  accounts, 
till  entering  the  town,  I  was  met  by  a  person 
on  horseback,  whom  I  remembered  to  have 
seen  at  the  'Squire's,  and  he  assured  me  that  if 
I  followed  them  to  the  races,  which  were  but 
thirty  miles  farther,  I  might  depend  upon  over- 
taking them  ;  for  he  had  seen  them  dance  there 
the  night  before,  and  the  whole  assembly 
seemed  charmed  with  my  daughter's  perform- 
ance. Early  the  next  day  I  walked  forward  to 
the  races,  and  about  four  in  the  afternoon  I 
came  upon  the  course.     The  company  made  a 


144  ^be  IDicar  of  Ma^efielD 

very  brilliant  appearance,  all  earnestly  em- 
ployed in  one  pursuit,  that  of  pleasure  ;  how 
different  from  mine,  that  of  reclaiming  a  lost 
child  to  virtue  !  I  thought  I  perceived  Mr. 
Burchell  at  some  distance  from  me  ;  but,  as  if 
he  dreaded  an  interview,  upon  my  approaching 
him  he  mixed  among  a  crowd,  and  I  saw  him 
no  more. 

I  now  reflected  that  it  would  be  to  no  purpose 
to  continue  my  pursuit  farther,  and  resolved  tc 
return  home  to  an  innocent  family,  who  wanted 
my  assistance.  But  the  agitations  of  my  mind, 
and  the  fatigues  I  had  undergone,  threw  me 
into  a  fever,  the  symptoms  of  which  I  perceived 
before  I  came  off  the  course.  This  was  another 
unexpected  stroke,  as  I  was  more  than  seventy 
miles  distant  from  home  :  however,  I  retired  to 
a  little  ale-house  by  the  roadside,  and  in  this 
place,  the  usual  retreat  of  indigence  and  frugal- 
ity, I  laid  me  down  patiently  to  wait  the  issue 
of  my  disorder.  I  languished  here  for  nearly 
three  weeks  ;  but  at  last  my  constitution  pre- 
vailed, though  I  was  unprovided  with  money  to 
defray  the  expenses  of  my  entertainment.  It  is 
possible  the  anxiety  from  this  last  circumstance 
alone  might  have  brought  on  a  relapse,  had  I 
not  been  supplied  by  a  traveller,  who  stopped 
to  take  a  cursory  refreshment.  This  person 
was  no  other  than  the  philanthropic  bookseller 


tTbe  IDlcar  of  Mal^efielO  145 

in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  who  has  written  so 
many  little  books  for  children  :  he  called  him- 
self their  friend  ;  but  he  was  the  friend  of  all 
mankind.  He  was  no  sooner  alighted,  but  he 
was  in  haste  to  be  gone  ;  for  he  was  ever  on 
business  of  the  utmost  importance,  and  was  at 
that  time  actually  compiling  materials  for  the 
history  of  one  Mr.  Thomas  Trip.  I  immediately 
recollected  this  good-natured  man's  red  pimpled 
face  ;  for  he  had  published  for  me  against  the 
Deuterogamists  of  the  age,  and  from  him  I  bor- 
rowed a  few  pieces,  to  be  paid  at  my  return. 
I/caving  the  inn,  therefore,  as  I  was  yet  but 
weak,  I  resolved  to  return  home  by  easy  jour- 
neys of  ten  miles  a  day. 

My  health  and  usual  tranquillity  were  almost 
restored,  and  I  now  condemned  that  pride  which 
had  made  me  refractory  to  the  hand  of  correc- 
tion. Man  little  knows  what  calamities  are  be- 
yond his  patience  to  bear  till  he  tries  them  ;  as 
in  ascending  the  heights  of  ambition  which  look 
bright  from  below,  every  step  we  rise  shows  us 
some  new  and  gloomy  prospect  of  hidden  dis- 
appointment ;  so  in  our  descent  from  the  sum- 
mits of  pleasmre,  though  the  vale  of  misery  be- 
low may  appear  at  first  dark  and  gloomy,  yet 
the  busy  mind,  still  attentive  to  its  own  amuse- 
ment, finds  as  we  descend  something  to  flatter 
and  to  please.     Still  as  we  approach,  the  darkest 


146  Zbc  IDicar  of  mafeefielD 

objects  appear  to  brighten,  and  the  mental  eye 
becomes  adapted  to  its  gloomy  situation. 

I  now  proceeded  forward,  and  had  walked 
about  two  hours,  when  I  perceived  what  ap- 
peared at  a  distance  like  a  wagon,  which  I  was 
resolved  to  overtake  ;  but  when  I  came  up  with 
it  found  it  to  be  a  strolling  company's  cart,  that 
w^as  carrying  their  scenes  and  other  theatrical 
furniture  to  the  next  ^^.llage,  where  they  were 
to  exhibit. 

The  cart  was  attended  only  by  the  person  who 
drove  it  and  one  of  the  company,  as  the  rest  of 
the  players  were  to  follow  the  ensuing  day. 
"Good  company  upon  the  road,"  says  the 
proverb,  "is  the  shortest  cut";  I  therefore 
entered  into  conversation  with  the  poor  player  ; 
and  as  I  once  had  some  theatrical  powers  myself, 
I  disserted  on  such  topics  with  my  usual  free- 
dom ;  but  as  I  was  pretty  much  unacquainted 
with  the  present  state  of  the  stage,  I  demanded 
who  were  the  present  theatrical  writers  in 
vogue,  who  the  Drydens  and  Otways  of  the 
day.  "  I  fancy,  sir,"  cried  the  player,  "  few  of 
our  modern  dramatists  would  think  themselves 
much  honored  by  being  compared  to  the  writers 
you  mention.  Drydeu's  and  Rowe's  manner, 
sir,  are  quite  out  of  fashion  :  our  taste  has  gone 
back  a  whole  century  ;  Fletcher,  Ben  Jouson, 
and  all  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  are  the  only 


Zbc  IDicar  of  mahefielD  147 

things  that  go  down," — "How!"  cried  I,  "is 
it  possible  that  the  present  age  can  be  pleased 
with  that  antiquated  dialect,  that  obsolete 
humor,  those  over-charged  characters  which 
abound  in  the  works  you  mention?" — "Sir," 
returned  my  companion,  "the  public  think 
nothing  about  dialect,  or  humor,  or  character, 
for  that  is  none  of  their  business  ;  they  only  go 
to  be  amused,  and  find  themselves  happy  when 
they  can  enjoy  a  pantomime  under  the  sanction 
of  Jonson's  or  Shakspeare's  name." — "  So  then, 
I  suppose,"  cried  I,  "that  our  modern  drama- 
tists are  rather  imitators  of  Shakespeare  than  of 
nature?" — "To  say  the  truth,"  returned  my 
companion,  "I  don't  know  that  they  imitate 
any  thing  at  all  ;  nor  indeed  does  the  public  re- 
quire it  of  them  :  it  is  not  the  composition  of 
the  piece,  but  the  number  of  starts  and  attitudes 
that  may  be  introduced  into  it,  that  elicits  ap- 
plause. I  have  known  a  piece  with  not  one  jest 
in  the  whole  shrugged  into  popularity,  and 
another  saved  by  the  poet's  throwing  in  a  fit  of 
the  gripes.  No,  sir,  the  works  of  Congreve  and 
Farquhar  have  too  much  wit  in  them  for  the 
present  taste  ;  our  modern  dialect  is  much  more 
natural." 

By  this  time  the  equipage  of  the  strolling 
company  was  arrived  at  the  village,  which,  it 
seems,  had  been  apprised  of  our  approach,  and 


148  Zbc  Dicar  of  lIClaKetiiclD 

was  come  out  to  gaze  at  us  ;  for,  my  companion 
observed,  that  strollers  always  have  more  spec- 
tators without  doors  than  within,  I  did  not 
consider  the  impropriety  of  my  being  in  such 
company  till  I  saw  a  mob  gather  about  me.  I 
therefore  took  shelter,  as  fast  as  possible,  in  the 
first  ale-house  that  offered ;  and  being  shown 
into  the  common  room,  was  accosted  by  a  very 
well-dressed  gentleman,  who  demanded  whether 
I  was  the  real  chaplain  of  the  company,  or 
whether  it  was  only  to  be  my  masquerade  char- 
acter in  the  play.  Upon  my  informing  him  of 
the  truth,  and  that  I  did  not  belong  in  any  sort 
to  the  company,  he  was  condescending  enough 
to  desire  me  and  the  player  to  partake  in  a 
bowl  of  punch,  over  which  he  discussed  modem 
politics  with  great  earnestness  and  interest.  I 
set  him  down  in  my  own  mind  for  nothing  less 
than  a  parliament-man  at  least :  but  was  almost 
confirmed  in  my  conjectures,  when  upon  asking 
what  there  was  in  the  house  for  supper,  he  in- 
sisted that  the  player  and  I  should  sup  with 
him  at  his  house  ;  with  which  request,  after 
some  entreaties,  we  were  prevailed  upon  to 
comply. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


The  Description  of  a  Person  Discontented  with  the  Pres- 
ent Government,  and  Apprehensive  of  the  Loss  of 
Our  liberties. 


T' 


*HB  house  where  we  were  to  be  entertained 
lying  at  a  small  distance  from  the  village, 
our  inviter  observed  that  as  the  coach  was  not 
ready  he  would  conduct  us  on  foot,  and  we 
soon  arrived  at  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
mansions  I  had  seen  in  that  part  of  the  country. 
The  apartment  into  which  we  were  shown  was 
perfectly  elegant  and  modern  ;  he  went  to  give 
orders  for  supper,  while  the  player,  with  c. 
wink,  observed  that  we  were  perfectly  in  luck. 
Our  entertainer  soon  returned,  an  elegant  sup- 
per was  brought  in,  two  or  three  ladies  in  easy 
dishabille  were  introduced,  aud  the  conversatioc 
began  with  some  sprightliness.  Politics,  how- 
ever, were  the  subject  on  which  our  entertainer 
chiefly  expatiated ;  for  he  asserted  that  liberty 
was  at  once  his  boast  and  his  terror.     After  the 


I50  Zbc  Dicar  of  Mat^efilclD 

cloth  was  removed,  he  asked  me  if  I  had.  seen 
the  last  Monitor^  to  which  replying  in  the  neg- 
ative, "What!  nor  the  Auditor,  I  suppose?" 
cried  he. — "  Neither,  sir,"  returned  I. — "  That 's 
strange,  ver\^  strange,"  replied  my  entertainer. 
"  Now,  I  read  all  the  politics  that  come  out. 
The  Daily,  the  Public,  the  Ledger,  the  Chro7i- 
icle,  the  London  Evening,  the  Whitehall  Even- 
ing, the  seventeen  magazines,  and  the  two  re- 
views ;  and  though  they  hate  each  other,  I  love 
them  all.  Iviberty,  sir,  libert}^  is  the  Briton's 
boast,  and  by  all  my  coal-mines  in  Cornwall,  I 
reverence  its  guardians." — "Then  it  is  to  be 
hoped,"  cried  I,  "you  reverence  the  king." — 
"Yes,"  returned  my  entertainer,  "when  he 
does  what  we  would  have  him  ;  but  if  he  goes 
on  as  he  has  done  of  late,  I  '11  never  trouble 
myself  more  with  his  matters.  I  say  nothing. 
I  think  only.  I  could  have  directed  some  things 
better.  I  don't  think  there  has  been  a  sufficient 
number  of  advisers  :  he  should  advise  with 
every  person  willing  to  give  him  advice,  and 
then  we  should  have  things  done  in  another 
guess  manner." 

"I  wish,"  cried  I,  "that  such  intruding  ad- 
visers were  fixed  in  the  pillory.  It  should  be 
the  duty  of  honest  men  to  assist  the  weaker  side 
of  our  constitution,  that  sacred  power  that  has 
for  some  years  been  every  day  declining,  and 


trbe  IDicar  of  MakcftclO 


losing  its  due  share  of  influence  in  the  State. 
But  these  ignorants  still  continue  the  same  cry 
of  liberty,  and  if  they  had  any  weight,  basely 
throw  it  into  the  subsiding  scale." 

"How,"  cried  one  of  the  ladies,  '"do  I  live  to 
see  one  so  base,  so  sordid,  as  to  be  an  enemy  to 
liberty,  and  a  defender  of  tyrants  ?  I^iberty, 
that  sacred  gift  of  Heaven,  that  glorious  privi- 
lege of  Britons  !  " 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  cried  our  entertainer, 
that  there  should  be  any  found  at  present  advo- 
cates for  slavery  ?  Any  who  are  for  meanly  giv- 
ing up  the  privileges  of  Britons  ?  Can  anj^  sir, 
be  so  abject?  " 

"No,  sir,"  replied  I,  "I  am  for  liberty,  that 
attribute  of  God  !  Glorious  liberty  !  that  theme 
of  modem  declamation.  I  would  have  all  men 
kings.  I  would  be  a  king  myself  We  have  all 
naturally  an  equal  right  to  the  throne  :  we  are 
all  originally  equal.  This  is  my  opinion,  and 
was  once  the  opinion  of  a  set  of  honest  men 
who  were  called  Levellers.  They  tried  to  erect 
themselves  into  a  community,  where  all  should 
be  equally  free.  But,  alas  !  it  would  never  an- 
swer ;  for  there  were  some  among  them  stronger, 
and  some  more  cunning  than  others,  and  these 
became  masters  of  the  rest  ;  for  as  sure  as  your 
groom  rides  your  horses,  because  he  is  a  cun- 
ninger  animal  than  they,  so  surely  will  the  ani- 


152  ZTbe  IDicar  of  lnaahefielD 

mal  that  is  cunninger  or  stronger  than  he,  sit 
upon  his  shoulders  in  turn.  Since,  then,  it  is 
entailed  upon  humanity  to  submit,  and  some  are 
born  to  command  and  others  to  obey,  the  ques- 
tion is,  as  there  must  be  tyrants,  whether  it  is 
better  to  have  them  in  the  same  house  with  us, 
or  in  the  same  village,  or  still  farther  off,  in  the 
metropolis.  Now,  sir,  for  my  own  part,  as  I 
naturally  hate  the  face  of  a  tyrant,  the  farther 
off  he  is  removed  from  me  the  better  pleased  am 
I.  The  generality  of  mankind  are  also  of  my 
way  of  thinking,  and  have  unanimously  created 
one  king,  whose  election  at  once  diminishes  the 
number  of  tyrants,  and  puts  tyranny  at  the 
greatest  distance  from  the  greatest  number  of 
people.  Now  the  great  who  were  tyrants  them- 
selves before  the  election  of  one  tyrant,  are  nat- 
urally averse  to  a  power  raised  over  them,  and 
whose  weight  must  ever  lean  heaviest  on  the 
subordinate  orders.  It  is  the  interest  of  the 
great,  therefore,  to  diminish  kingly  power  as 
much  as  possible  :  because  whatever  they  take 
from  that  is  naturally  restored  to  themselves ; 
and  all  they  have  to  do  in  the  state  is  to  under- 
mine the  single  tyrant,  by  which  they  resume 
their  primeval  authority.  Now  the  state  may 
be  so  circumstanced,  or  its  laws  may  be  so  dis- 
posed, or  its  men  of  opulence  so  minded,  as  all 
to  conspire  in  carrying  on  this  business  of  un- 


^be  IDicar  of  Wal^cfielC)  153 


dermining  monarchy.  For,  in  the  first  place, 
if  the  circumstances  of  our  state  be  such  as  to 
favor  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  and  make  the 
opulent  still  more  rich,  this  will  increase  their 
ambition.  An  accumulation  of  wealth,  however, 
must  necessarily  be  the  consequence  when,  as 
at  present,  more  riches  flow  in  from  external 
commerce  than  arise  from  internal  industry;  for 
external  commerce  can  only  be  managed  to  ad- 
vantage by  the  rich,  and  they  have  also  at  the 
same  time  all  the  emoluments  arising  from  inter- 
nal industry ;  so  that  the  rich,  with  us,  have 
two  sources  of  wealth,  whereas  the  poor  have  but 
one.  For  this  reason,  wealth  in  all  commercial 
states  is  found  to  accumulate,  and  all  such  have 
Htherto  in  time  become  aristocratical. 

"  Again,  the  very  laws  also  of  this  country  may 
contribute  to  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  as 
when  by  their  means  the  natural  ties  that  bind 
t^'.e  rich  and  poor  together  are  broken,  and  it  is 
ordained  that  the  rich  shall  onh'  marr}-  with  the 
rich  ;  or  when  the  learned  are  held  unqualified 
to  serve  their  country  as  counsellors  merely 
from  a  defect  of  opulence,  and  wealth  is  thus 
made  the  object  of  a  wise  man's  ambition  :  by 
these  means,  I  say,  and  such  means  as  these, 
riches  will  accumulate.  Now  the  possessor  of 
accumulated  wealth,  when  furnished  with  the 
necessaries  and  pleasures  of  life,  has  no  other 


154  ^be  Dlcar  of  "Malftefielt) 

method  to  employ  the  superfluity  of  his  fortune 
but  in  purchasing  power.  That  is,  diflferently 
speaking,  in  making  dependants,  by  purchasing 
the  liberty  of  the  needy  or  the  venal,  of  men 
who  are  willing  to  bear  the  mortification  of 
contiguous  tyranny  for  bread.  Thus  each  very 
opulent  man  generally  gathers  round  him  a  cir- 
cle of  the  poorest  of  the  people  ;  and  the  polity, 
abounding  in  accumulated  wealth,  may  be  com- 
pared to  a  Cartesian  system,  each  orb  with  a 
vortex  of  its  own.  Those,  however,  who  are 
willing  to  move  in  a  great  man's  vortex  are  only 
such  as  must  be  slaves — the  rabble  of  mankind, 
whose  souls  and  whose  education  are  adapted 
to  servitude,  and  who  know  nothing  of  liberty 
except  the  name. 

*'  But  there  must  still  be  a  large  number  of 
the  people  without  the  sphere  of  the  opulent 
man's  influence  :  namely,  that  order  of  men 
which  subsists  between  the  very  rich  and  the 
very  rabble  ;  those  men  who  are  possessed  of 
too  large  fortunes  to  submit  to  the  neighboring 
man  in  power,  and  yet  are  too  poor  to  set  up  for 
tyranu}^  themselves.  In  this  middle  order  of 
mankind  are  generally  to  be  found  all  the  arts, 
wisdom,  and  virtues  of  society.  This  order  alone 
is  known  to  be  the  true  preserver  of  freedom, 
and  may  be  called  the  PEOPLE.  Now  it  may 
happen  that  this  middle  order  of  mankind  may 


trbc  Dicar  of  1ima?iet!elD  155 


lose  all  its  influence  in  a  state,  and  its  voice  be 
in  a  manner  drowned  in  that  of  the  rabble  :  for 
if  the  fortune  sufficient  for  qualifj-ing  a  person 
at  present  to  give  his  voice  in  state  afiairs,  be 
ten  times  less  than  was  judged  sufficient  upon 
forming  the  constitution,  it  is  evident  that  great 
numbers  of  the  rabble  will  thus  be  introduced 
into  the  political  system,  and  the}-  ever  moving 
in  the  vortex  of  the  great,  will  follow  where 
greatness  shall  direct.  In  such  a  state,  there- 
Jbre,  r\l  that  the  middle  order  has  left,  is  to  pre- 
serve the  prerogative  and  privileges  of  the  one 
principal  governor  with  the  most  sacred  circum- 
spection. For  he  divides  the  power  of  the  rich, 
and  calls  off  the  great  from  falling  with  tenfold 
weight  on  the  middle  order  placed  beneath 
them.  The  middle  order  may  be  compared  to  a 
town  of  which  the  opulent  are  forming  the  siege, 
and  to  which  the  governor  from  without  is  has- 
tening the  relief.  While  the  besiegers  are  in 
dread  of  an  enemy  over  them,  it  is  but  natural 
to  offer  the  townsmen  the  most  specious  terms  ; 
to  flatter  them  with  sounds,  and  amuse  them 
wi^.h  privileges  ;  but  if  they  once  defeat  the  gov- 
er  lor  from  behind,  the  walls  of  the  towm  will 
bf  but  a  small  defence  to  its  inhabitants.  What 
tl.ey  may  then  expect,  may  be  seen  by  turning 
our  eyes  to  Holland,  Genoa,  or  Venice,  where 
the  laws  govern  the  poor,  and  the  rich  govern 


156  Ubc  IDfcar  of  IKflakeflelD 

the  laws.  I  am,  then,  for,  and  would  die  for, 
monarchy,  sacred  monarch}' ;  for  if  there  be 
any  thing  sacred  amongst  men,  it  must  be  the 
anointed  sovereign  of  his  people,  and  every 
diminution  of  his  power,  in  war  or  in  peace,  is 
an  infringement  upon  the  real  liberties  of  the 
subject.  The  sounds  of  liberty,  patriotism,  and 
Britons,  have  already  done  much  :  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  true  sons  of  freedom  will  prevent 
their  ever  doing  more.  I  have  known  many  of 
those  pretended  champions  for  liberty  in  my 
time,  yet  I  do  not  remember  one  that  was  not  in 
his  heart  and  in  his  family  a  tyrant." 

My  warmth  I  found  had  lengthened  this  hai- 
angue  beyond  the  rules  of  good  breeding  ;  but 
the  impatience  of  my  entertainer,  who  often 
strove  to  interrupt  it,  could  be  restrained  no 
longer.  "  What  !  "  cried  he,  "  then  I  have  been 
all  this  while  entertaining  a  Jesuit  in  parson's 
clothes  ;  but  by  all  the  coal-mines  of  Cornwall, 
out  he  shall  pack,  if  my  name  be  Wilkinson." 
I  now  found  I  had  gone  too  far,  and  asked  par- 
don for  the  warmth  with  which  I  had  spoken. 
"Pardon  !  "  returned  he  in  a  fury  ;  "I  think 
such  principles  demand  ten  thousand  pardons. 
What,  give  up  liberty,  property,  and,  as  the 
Gazetteer  says,  lie  down  to  be  saddled  with 
wooden  shoes  !  Sir,  I  insist  upon  your  march- 
ing out  of  this  house  immediately,  to  prevent 


^be  IDicar  of  maftetielD 


157 


worse  consequences.  Sir,  I  insist  upon  it."  I 
was  going  to  repeat  my  remonstrances;  but  just 
then  we  heard  a  footman's  rap  at  the  door,  and 
the  two  ladies  cried  out :  "As  sure  as  death  there 
is  our  master  and  mistress  come  home. ' '    It  seems 


THE  VICAR,  THE  STROLLER,  AND  THE  BUTLER. 


my  entertainer  was  all  this  while  only  the  butler, 
who,  in  his  master's  absence,  had  a  mind  to  cut  a 
figure,  and  be  for  a  while  the  gentleman  himself; 
and,  to  say  the  truth,  he  talked  politics  as  well 
as  most  countrj^-gentlemen  do.  But  nothing 
could  now  exceed  my  confusion  upon  seeing  the 


158  Cbe  Dicar  of  makefiel^ 


gentleman  and  his  lady  enter;  nor  was  their  sur- 
prise at  finding  such  company  and  good  cheer 
less  than  ours.  "  Gentlemen,"  cried  the  real 
master  of  the  house  to  me  and  my  companion, 
"  my  wife  and  I  are  your  most  humble  servants ; 
but  I  protest  this  is  so  unexpected  a  favor  that 
we  almost  sink  under  the  obligation. ' '  However 
unexpected  our  company  might  be  to  them, 
theirs,  I  am  sure,  was  still  more  so  to  us,  and  I 
was  struck  dumb  with  the  apprehensions  of  my 
own  absurdity,  when  whom  should  I  next  see 
enter  the  room  but  my  dear  Miss  Arabella  Wil- 
mot,  who  was  formerly  designed  to  be  married 
to  my  son  George  ;  but  whose  match  was  broken 
off  as  already  related.  As  j:oon  as  she  saw  me, 
she  flew  to  my  arms  with  the  utmost  joy.  "My 
dear  sir,"  cried  she,  "  to  what  happy  accident  is 
it  that  we  owe  so  unexpected  a  visit  ?  I  am  sure 
my  uncle  and  aunt  will  be  in  raptures  when 
they  find  they  have  the  good  Doctor  Primrose 
for  their  guest."  Upon  hearing  my  name,  the 
old  gentleman  and  lady  very  politely  stepped 
up,  and  welcomed  me  with  most  cordial  hospi- 
tality. Nor  could  they  forbear  smiling  upon 
being  informed  of  the  nature  of  my  present 
visit  ;  but  the  unfortunate  butler,  whom  they  at 
first  seemed  disposed  to  turn  away,  was  at  my 
intercession  forgiven. 

Mr.  Arnold  and  his  lady,  to  whom  the  house 


Ube  IDicar  of  WafteficlO  159 

belonged,  now  insisted  upon  having  the  pleas- 
ure of  my  stay  for  some  days,  and  as  their  niece, 
my  charming  pupil,  whose  mind  in  some  meas- 
ure had  been  formed  under  my  own  instruc- 
tions, joined  in  their  entreaties,  I  complied. 
That  night  I  was  shown  to  a  magnificent  cham- 
ber, and  the  next  morning  early  Miss  Wilmot 
desired  to  walk  with  me  in  the  garden,  which 
was  decorated  in  the  modern  manner.  After 
some  time  spent  in  pointing  out  the  beauties  of 
the  place,  she  inquired  with  seeming  unconcern 
when  last  I  had  heard  from  my  son  George. 
"Alas!  madam,"  cried  I,  "he  has  now  been 
nearly  three  years  absent,  without  ever  writing 
to  his  friends  or  me.  \Vhere  he  is  I  know  not ; 
perhaps  I  shall  never  see  him  or  happiness 
more.  No,  my  dear  madam,  we  shall  never 
more  see  such  pleasing  hours  as  were  once 
spent  by  our  fireside  at  Wakefield.  My  little 
family  are  now  dispersing  very  fast,  and  poverty 
has  brought  not  only  want  but  infamy  upon 
us."  The  good-natured  girl  let  fall  a  tear  at 
this  account ;  but  as  I  saw  her  possessed  of  too 
much  sensibility,  I  forbore  a  more  minute  de- 
tail of  our  sufferings.  It  was,  however,  some 
consolation  to  me  to  find  that  time  had  made 
no  alteration  in  her  affections,  and  that  she  had 
rejected  several  offers  that  had  been  made  her 
since  our  leaving  her  part  of  the  country.     She 


i6o  ^be  Dicar  ot  MaketielO 

led  me  round  all  the  extensive  improvements 
of  the  place,  pointing  to  the  several  walks  and 
arbors,  and  at  the  same  time  catching  from 
every  object  a  hint  for  some  new  question  rela- 
tive to  my  son. 

In  this  manner  we  spent  the  forenoon,  till  the 
bell  summoned  us  to  dinner,  where  we  found 
the  manager  of  the  strolling  company  that  I 
mentioned  before,  who  was  come  to  dispose  of 
tickets  for  "The  Fair  Penitent,"  which  was  to 
be  acted  that  evening,  the  part  of  Horatio  by  a 
young  gentleman  who  had  never  appeared  on 
any  stage.  He  seemed  to  be  very  warm  in  the 
praise  of  the  new  performer,  and  averred  that 
he  never  saw  any  who  bid  so  fair  for  excellence. 
Acting  he  observed,  was  not  learned  in  a  day ; 
"but  this  gentleman,"  continued  he,  "seems 
bom  to  tread  the  stage.  His  voice,  his  figure, 
and  attitudes  are  all  admirable.  We  caught 
him  up  accidentally  in  our  journey  down." 
This  account,  in  some  measure,  excited  our  curi- 
osity, and,  at  the  entreaty  of  the  ladies,  I  was 
prevailed  upon  to  accompany  them  to  the  play- 
house, which  was  no  other  than  a  bam.  As  the 
company  with  which  I  went  was  incontestably 
the  chief  of  the  place,  we  were  received  with 
the  greatest  respect,  and  placed  in  the  front 
seat  of  the  theatre,  where  we  sat  for  some  time 
with  no  small  impatience  to  see  Horatio  make 


Zbc  IDicar  of  maRefielC)  t6i 

his  appearance.  The  new  performer  advanced 
at  last ;  and  let  parents  think  of  my  sensations 
by  their  own,  when  I  found  it  was  my  unfortu- 
nate son.  He  was  going  to  begin,  when,  turn- 
ing his  eyes  upon  the  audience,  he  perceived 
Miss  Wilmot  and  me,  and  stood  at  once  speech- 
less and  immovable. 

The  actors  behind  the  scene,  who  ascribed 
this  pause  to  his  natural  timidity,  attempted  to 
encourage  him  ;  but  instead  of  going  on,  he 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  retired  off  the 
stage.  I  don't  know  what  were  my  feelings  on 
this  occasion,  for  they  succeeded  with  too  much 
rapidity  for  description  ;  but  I  was  soon  awak- 
ened from  this  disagreeable  re  very  by  Miss 
Wilmot,  who,  pale  and  with  a  trembling  voice, 
desired  me  to  conduct  her  back  to  her  uncle's. 
When  we  got  home,  Mr.  Arnold,  who  was  as  yet 
a  stranger  to  our  extraordinary  behavior,  being 
informed  that  the  new  performer  was  my  son, 
sent  his  coach  and  an  in\'itation  for  him ;  and 
as  he  persisted  in  his  refusal  to  appear  again 
upon  the  stage,  the  players  put  another  in  his 
place,  and  we  soon  had  him  with  us.  Mr. 
Arnold  gave  him  the  kindest  reception,  and  I 
received  him  with  my  usual  transport ;  for  I 
could  never  counterfeit  false  resentment.  Miss 
Wilmot's  reception  was  mixed  with  seeming 
neglect,  and  yet  I  could  perceive  she  acted  a 


i62  ^be  IDicar  of  WaftefielD 

studied  part.  The  tumult  in  her  mind  seemed 
not  yet  abated  :  she  said  twenty  giddy  things 
that  looked  like  joy,  and  then  laughed  loud  at 
her  own  want  of  meaning.  At  intervals  she 
would  take  a  sly  peep  at  the  glass,  as  if  happy 
in  the  consciousness  of  irresistible  beauty,  and 
often  would  ask  questions  without  giving  any 
manner  of  attention  to  the  answers. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  History  of  a  Philosophic  Vagabond,  Pursuing  Nov- 
elty, but  loosing  Content. 

AFTER  we  had  supped,  Mrs.  Arnold  politely 
offered  to  send  a  couple  of  her  footmen  for 
my  son's  baggage ;  which  he  at  first  seemed  to 
decline ;  but  upon  her  pressing  the  request,  he 
was  obliged  to  inform  her,  that  a  stick  and  a 
wallet  were  all  the  movable  things  upon  this 
earth  that  he  could  boast  of.  "Why,  ay,  my 
son,"  cried  I,  "you  left  me  but  poor,  and  poor 
I  find  you  are  come  back ;  and  yet  I  make  no 
doubt  you  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world." 
—  "Yes,  sir,"  replied  my  son  ;  "  but  travelling 
after  fortune  is  not  the  way  to  secure  her  ;  and 
indeed,  of  late  I  have  desisted  from  the  pur- 
suit."— "I  fancy,  sir,"  cried  Mrs.  Arnold,  "that 
the  account  of  your  adventures  would  be  amus- 
ing :  the  first  part  of  them  I  have  often 
heard  from  my  niece ;  but  could  the  company 


i64  Zbc  IDicar  ot  MaF^efielD 

prevail  for  the  rest,  it  would  be  an  additional 
obligation." 

"  Madam,"  replied  my  son,  "I  promise  you 
the  pleasure  you  have  in  hearing,  will  not 
be  half  so  great  as  my  vanity  in  repeating 
them ;  and  yet  in  the  whole  narrative  I  can 
scarcely  promise  you  one  adventure,  as  my  ac- 
count is  rather  of  what  I  saw  than  what  I  did. 
The  first  misfortune  of  my  life,  which  you  all 
know,  was  great ;  but,  though  it  distressed,  it 
could  not  sink,  me.  No  person  ever  had  a  bet- 
ter knack  at  hoping  than  I.  The  less  kind  I 
found  fortune  at  one  time,  the  more  I  expected 
from  her  another,  and  being  now  at  the  bottom 
of  her  wheel,  every  new  revolution  might  lift, 
but  could  not  depress  me.  I  proceeded,  there- 
fore, towards  London  in  a  fine  morning,  no  way 
uneasy  about  to-morrow ;  but  cheerful  as  the 
birds  that  carolled  by  the  road,  and  comforted 
myself  with  reflecting  that  London  was  the 
mart  where  abilities  of  every  kind  were  sure  of 
meeting  distinction  and  reward. 

"Upon  my  arrival  in  town,  sir,  my  first  care 
was  to  deliver  your  letter  of  recommendation  to 
our  cousin,  who  was  himself  in  little  better  cir- 
cumstances than  I.  My  first  scheme,  you  know, 
sir,  was  to  be  an  usher  at  an  academy,  and  I 
asked  his  advice  on  the  affair.  Our  cousin 
received  the  proposal  with  a  true  sard*onic  grin. 


^be  IDicar  of  "MalftefielD  165 

*  Ay, '  cried  he,  '  this  is  indeed  a  very  pretty  career 
that  has  been  chalked  out  for  you.  I  have  been 
an  usher  at  a  boarding-school  myself ;  and  may 
I  die  by  an  anodyne  necklace,  but  I  had  rather 
be  an  under-turnkey  in  Newgate.  I  was  up 
early  and  late  ;  I  w^as  browbeat  by  the  master, 
hated  for  my  ugly  face  by  the  mistress,  worried 
by  the  boys  within,  and  never  permitted  to  stir 
out  to  meet  civility  abroad.  But  are  you  sure 
you  are  fit  for  a  school?  Let  me  examine  you 
a  little.  Have  you  been  bred  apprentice  to  the 
business?' — 'No.' — 'Then  you  wont  do  for  a 
school.  Can  you  dress  the  boys'  hair  ? ' — '  No. ' — 
'  Then  you  wont  do  for  a  school.  Have  you  had 
the  small-pox  ? ' — '  No. ' — '  Then  you  wont  do  for 
a  school.  Can  you  lie  three  in  a  bed  ?  ' — '  No. ' — 
'  Then  you  will  never  do  for  a  school.  Have  you 
got  a  good  stomach  ?  ' — '  Yes.' — 'Then  you  will 
by  no  means  do  for  a  school.  No,  sir,  if  you  are 
foragenteel,  easy  profession,  bind  yourself  seven 
years  as  an  apprentice  to  turn  a  cutler's  wheel, 
but  avoid  a  school  by  any  means.  Yet  come  ' 
continued  he,  '  I  see  you  are  a  lad  of  spirit  and 
some  learning  ;  what  do  you  think  of  commen- 
cing author,  like  me  ?  You  have  read  in  books, 
no  doubt,  of  men  of  genius  starving  at  the  trade. 
At  present  I  '11  show  you  forty  very  dull  fellows 
about  town  that  live  by  it  in  opulence  ; — all 
honest  jog-trot  men,  who  go  on  smoothly  and 


i66  ^be  Dicar  of  1Kaa?ieticID 

dully,  and  write  history  and  politics,  and  are 
praised ;  men,  sir,  who,  had  they  been  bred 
cobblers,  would  all  their  lives  have  only  mended 
shoes,  but  never  made  them.  ' 

"Finding  that  there  was  no  great  degree  of 
gentility  affixed  to  the  character  of  an  usher,  I 
resolved  to  accept  his  proposal ;  and  having  the 
highest  respect  for  literature,  hailed  the  antiqua 
tnater  of  Grub  Street  with  reverence.  I  thought 
it  my  glory  to  pursue  a  track  which  Dryden  and 
Otway  trod  before  me.  I  considered  the  goddess 
of  this  region  as  the  parent  of  excellence  ;  and 
however  an  intercourse  with  the  world  might 
give  us  good  sense,  the  poverty  she  entailed  I 
supposed  to  be  the  true  nurse  of  genius.  Big 
with  these  reflections,  I  sat  down,  and  finding 
that  the  best  things  remained  to  be  said  on  the 
wrong  side,  I  resolved  to  write  a  book  that 
should  be  wholly  new.  I  therefore  dressed  up 
three  paradoxes  with  some  ingenuity.  They 
were  false,  indeed,  but  they  were  new.  The 
jewels  of  truth  have  been  so  often  imported  by 
others,  that  nothing  was  left  for  me  to  import, 
but  some  splendid  things  that,  at  a  distance, 
looked  every  bit  as  well.  Witness,  you  powers, 
what  fancied  importance  sat  perched  upon  my 
quill  while  I  was  writing  !  The  whole  learned 
world,  I  made  no  doubt,  would  rise  to  oppose  my 
systems  ;  but  then  I  was  prepared  to  oppose  the 


Zbc  Dicar  of  maftefielD  167 

whole  learned  world.  Like  the  porcupine,  I  sat 
self-collected,  with  a  quill  pointed  against  every 
opposer. ' ' 

"Weil  said,  my  boy,"  cried  I;  "and  what 
subject  did  you  treat  upon  ?  I  hope  you  did  not 
pass  over  the  importance  of  monogamy.  But  I 
interrupt,  go  on  :  you  published  your  para- 
doxes ;  well,  and  what  did  the  learned  world 
say  to  your  paradoxes  ?  ' ' 

"Sir,"  replied  my  son,  "the  learned  world 
said  nothing  to  my  paradoxes  ;  nothing  at  all, 
sir.  Every  man  of  them  was  employed  in 
praising  his  friends  and  himself,  or  condem- 
ning his  enemies  ;  and  unfortunately,  as  I  had 
neither,  I  suffered  the  cruellest  mortification 
— neglect. 

"  As  I  was  meditating  one  day  in  a  coffee- 
house on  the  fate  of  my  paradoxes,  a  little  man 
happening  to  enter  the  room,  placed  himself  in 
the  box  before  me,  and  after  some  preliminary 
discourse,  finding  me  to  be  a  scholar,  drew  out 
a  bundle  of  proposals,  begging  me  to  subscribe 
to  a  new  edition  he  was  going  to  give  to  the 
world  of  Propertius,  with  notes.  This  demand 
necessaril}^  produced  a  reply  that  I  had  no 
money  ;  and  that  concession  led  him  to  inquire 
into  the  nature  of  my  expectations.  Finding 
that  my  expectations  were  just  as  great  as  my 
purse,  'I  see,'  cried  he,  'you  are  unacquainted 


i68  XLhc  IDicar  ot  maF?efielD 

with  the  town  ;  I  '11  teach  you  a  part  of  it. 
lyook  at  these  proposals  ;  upon  these  very  pro- 
posals I  have  subsisted  verv'  comfortably  for 
twelve  years.  The  moment  a  nobleman  re- 
turns from  his  travels,  a  Creolian  arrives  from 
Jamaica,  or  a  dowager  from  a  country-seat,  I 
strike  for  a  subscription.  I  first  besiege  their 
hearts  with  flattery,  and  then  pour  in  my  pro- 
posals at  the  breach.  If  they  subscribe  readily 
the  first  time,  I  renew  my  request  to  beg  a 
dedication  fee.  If  they  let  me  have  that,  I  smite 
them  once  more  for  engraving  their  coat-of- 
arms  at  the  top.  Thus,'  continued  he,  '  I  live 
by  vanity,  and  laugh  at  it.  But,  between  our- 
selves, I  am  now  too  well  known  ;  I  should  be 
glad  to  borrow  your  face  a  bit  :  a  nobleman  of 
distinction  has  just  returned  from  Italy  ;  my 
face  is  familiar  to  his  porter  ;  but  if  you  bring 
this  copy  of  verses,  my  life  for  it  you  succeed, 
and  we  divide  the  spoil.'  " 

*'  Bless  us,  George,"  cried  I,  "  and  is  this  the 
employment  of  poets  now  ?  Do  men  of  their 
exalted  talents  thus  stoop  to  beggary?  Can 
they  so  far  disgrace  their  calling  as  to  make  a 
vile  traffic  of  praise  for  bread  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  returned  he,  "  a  true  poet  ca^i 
never  be  so  base  ;  for  wherever  there  is  genius 
there  is  pride.  The  creatures  I  now  describe 
are  only  beggars  in  rh^-me.     The  real  poet,  as 


trbe  meat  ot  MaftcfielO  169 

he  braves  every  hardship  for  fame,  so  he  is 
equally  a  coward  to  contempt ;  and  none  but 
those  who  are  unworthy  protection  condescend 
to  solicit  it. 

"  Having  a  mind  too  proud  to  stoop  to  such 
indignities,  and  yet  a  fortune  too  humble  to 
hazard  a  second  attempt  for  fame,  I  was  now 
obliged  to  take  a  middle  course,  and  write 
for  bread.  But  I  was  unqualified  for  a  profes- 
sion where  mere  industry  alone  was  to  ensure 
success.  I  could  not  suppress  my  lurking  pas- 
sion for  applause  ;  but  usually  consumed  that 
time  in  efforts  after  excellence  which  takes  up 
but  little  room,  when  it  should  have  been  more 
advantageously  employed  in  the  diffusive  pro- 
ductions of  fruitful  mediocrity.  My  little  piece 
would  therefore  come  forth  in  the  midst  of 
periodical  publications,  unnoticed  and  un- 
known. The  public  were  more  importantly 
employed  than  to  observe  the  easy  simplicity 
of  my  style,  or  the  harmony  of  my  periods. 
Sheet  after  sheet  was  thrown  off  to  oblivion. 
My  essays  were  buried  among  the  essays  upon 
liberty,  Eastern  tales,  and  cures  for  the  bite  of  a 
mad  dog ;  while  Philautos,  Philalethes,  Phile- 
lutheros,  and  Philanthropos,  all  wrote  better, 
because  they  wrote  faster,  than  I. 

' '  Now,  therefore,  I  began  to  associate  with 
none  but  disappointed  authors  like  myself,  who 


I70  XLhc  Dicar  ot  'QClaftetiel& 

praised,  deplored,  and  despised  each  other.  The 
satisfaction  we  found  in  every  celebrated  writer's 
attempts  was  inversely  as  their  merits.  I  found 
that  no  genius  in  another  could  please  me.  My 
unfortunate  paradoxes  had  entirely  dried  up 
that  source  of  comfort.  I  could  neither  read 
nor  write  with  satisfaction  ;  for  excellence  in 
another  was  my  aversion,  and  writing  was  my 
trade. 

"  In  the  midst  of  these  gloomy  reflections,  as 
I  was  one  day  sitting  on  a  bench  in  St.  James' 
Park,  a  young  gentleman  of  distinction,  who 
had  been  my  intimate  acquaintance  at  the  uni- 
versity, approached  me.  We  saluted  each  other 
with  some  hesitation  ;  he  almost  ashamed  of 
being  known  to  one  who  made  so  shabby  an 
appearance,  and  I  afraid  of  a  repulse.  But  my 
suspicions  soon  vanished  ;  for  Ned  Thornhill 
was  at  the  bottom  a  very  good-natured  fellow." 

"  What  did  you  say,  George?"  interrupted  I, 
"Thornhill,  was  not  that  his  name?  It  can 
certainly  be  no  other  than  my  landlord." — 
"Bless  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Arnold,  "  is  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill  so  near  a  neighbor  of  yours  ?  He  has  long 
been  a  friend  in  our  family,  and  we  expect  a 
visit  from  him  shortl3\" 

"My  friend's  first  care,"  continued  my  son, 
"was  to  alter  my  appearance  by  a  fine  suit  of 
his  own  clothes,  and  then  I  was  admitted  to  his 


Zbc  IDicar  of  tKHaftcftelO  171 

table,  upon  the  footing  of  half-friend,  half- 
underling.  My  business  was  to  attend  him  at 
auctions,  to  put  him  in  spirits  when  he  sat  for 
his  picture,  to  take  the  left  hand  in  his  chariot 
when  not  filled  by  another,  and  to  assist  at 
tattering  a  kip,  as  the  phrase  was,  when  he  had 
a  mind  for  a  frolic.  Besides  this,  I  had  twenty 
other  little  employments  in  the  family.  I  was 
to  do  many  small  things  without  bidding  ;  to 
carry  the  corkscrew  ;  to  stand  godfather  to  all 
the  butler's  children  ;  to  sing  when  I  was  bid  ; 
to  be  never  out  of  humor ;  always  to  be  humble, 
and,  if  I  could,  to  be  very  happy. 

"  In  this  honorable  post,  however,  I  was  not 
without  a  rival.  A  captain  of  marines,  who  was 
formed  for  the  place  by  nature,  opposed  me  in 
my  patron's  affections.  His  mother  had  been 
laundress  to  a  man  of  quality,  and  thus  he  early 
acquired  a  taste  for  pimping  and  pedigree.  As 
this  gentleman  made  it  the  study  of  his  life  to 
be  acquainted  with  lords,  though  he  was  dis- 
missed from  several  for  his  stupidity,  yet  he 
found  many  of  them  who  were  as  dull  as  him- 
self, that  permitted  his  assiduities.  As  flattery 
was  his  trade,  he  practised  it  with  the  easiest 
address  imaginable ;  but  it  came  awkward  and 
stiff  from  me  ;  and  as  every  day  my  patron's 
desire  of  flattery  increased,  so  every  hour  being 
better  acquainted  with   his   defects,   I  became 


172  trbe  IDicar  of  IKilaKefielD 

more  unwilling  to  give  it.  Thus  I  was  once 
more  fairly  going  to  give  up  the  field  to  the 
captain,  when  my  friend  found  occasion  for  my 
assistance.  This  was  nothing  less  than  to  fight 
a  duel  for  him,  with  a  gentleman  whose  sister 
it  was  pretended  he  had  used  ill.  I  readily 
complied  with  his  request ;  and  though  I  see 
you  are  displeased  with  my  conduct,  yet  as  it 
was  a  debt  indispensably  due  to  friendship,  I 
could  not  refuse.  I  undertook  the  affair,  dis- 
armed my  antagonist,  and  soon  after  had  the 
pleasure  of  finding  that  the  lady  was  only  a 
woman  of  the  town,  and  the  fellow  her  bully 
and  a  sharper.  This  piece  of  service  was  repaid 
with  the  warmest  professions  of  gratitude:  but 
as  my  friend  was  to  leave  town  in  a  few  days, 
he  knew  no  other  method  of  ser^nng  me,  but 
by  recommending  me  to  his  uncle.  Sir  William 
Thornhill,  and  another  nobleman  of  great  distinc- 
tion, who  enjoyed  a  post  under  the  government. 
When  he  was  gone,  my  first  care  was  to  carry 
his  recommendatory  letter  to  his  uncle,  a  man 
whose  character  for  every  virtue  was  universal, 
yet  just.  I  was  received  by  his  servants  with 
the  most  hospitable  smiles ;  for  the  looks  of  the 
domestics  ever  transmit  their  master's  benevo- 
lence. Being  shown  into  a  grand  apartment, 
where  Sir  William  soon  came  to  me,  I  delivered 
my  message  and  letter,  which  he  read,  and  after 


XLbc  \Dicar  of  makeflelD 


173 


pausing  some  minutes, — 'Pray,  sir,'  cried  he, 
'  inform  me  what  you  have  done  for  my  kins- 
man, to  deserve  this  warm   recommendation  ? 


GEORGE  BRIBING  THE  SERVANT. 

But  I  suppose,  sir,  I  guess  your  merits,  you 
have  fought  for  him ;  and  so  you  would  expect 
a  reward  from  me  for  being  the  instrument  of 


174  t:be  IDicav  of  1imaftefiel& 

his  vices.  I  wish,  sincerely  wish,  that  my 
present  refusal  may  be  some  punishment  for 
your  guilt ;  but  still  more,  that  it  may  be  some 
inducement  to  your  repentance.' — The  severity 
of  this  rebuke  I  bore  patiently,  because  I  knew 
it  was  just.  My  whole  expectations  now,  there- 
fore, lay  in  m}'  letter  to  the  great  man.  As  the 
doors  of  the  nobility  are  almost  ever  beset  with 
beggars,  all  ready  to  thrust  in  some  sly  petition, 
I  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  gain  admittance. 
However,  after  bribing  the  servants  with  half 
my  worldly  fortune,  I  was  at  last  shown  into  a 
spacious  apartment,  my  letter  being  previously 
sent  up  for  his  lordship's  inspection.  During 
this  anxious  interval  I  had  full  time  to  look 
round  me.  Every  thing  was  grand  and  of 
happy  contrivance  :  the  paintings,  the  furni- 
ture, the  gildings,  petrified  me  with  awe,  and 
raised  my  idea  of  the  owner.  Ah,  thought  I  to 
myself,  how  very  great  must  the  possessor  of  all 
these  things  be,  who  carries  in  his  head  the 
business  of  the  state,  and  whose  house  displays 
half  the  wealth  of  a  kingdom  :  sure  his  genius 
must  be  unfathomable  !  During  these  awful  re- 
flections I  heard  a  step  come  heavily  forward. 
Ah,  this  is  the  great  man  himself !  No,  it  was 
only  a  chamber-maid.  Another  foot  was  heard 
soon  after.  This  must  be  he  !  No,  it  was  only 
the  great  man's  valet  de  chambre.      At  last  his 


xrbe  IDicar  ot  maftcfielt)  175 

lordship  actually  made  his  appearance.  '  Are 
you, '  cried  he,  '  the  bearer  of  this  here  letter  ?  ' 
I  answered  with  a  bow.  '  I  learn  by  this,'  con- 
tinued he,   '  as  how  that ' But  just  at  that 

instant  a  servant  delivered  him  a  card,  and 
without  taking  further  notice,  he  went  out  of 
the  room,  and  left  me  to  digest  my  own  happi- 
ness at  leisure.  I  saw  no  more  of  him,  till  told 
by  a  footman  that  his  lordship  w^as  going  to  his 
coach  at  the  door.  Down  I  immediately  fol- 
lowed, and  joined  my  voice  to  that  of  three  or 
ibur  more,  who  came,  like  me,  to  petition  for 
iavors.  His  lordship,  however,  went  too  fast 
ibr  us,  and  was  gaining  his  chariot  door  with 
large  strides,  when  I  hallooed  out  to  know  if  I 
-vvas  to  have  any  reply.  He  was  by  this  time 
got  in,  and  muttered  an  answer,  half  of  which 
only  I  heard,  the  other  half  was  lost  in  the 
rattling  of  his  chariot  wheels.  I  stood  for  some 
time  with  my  neck  stretched  out,  in  the  posture 
of  one  that  was  listening  to  catch  the  glorious 
sounds,  till,  looking  round  me,  I  found  myself 
alone  at  his  lordship's  gate. 

"My  patience,"  continued  my  son,  "was 
now  quite  exhausted  :  stung  with  the  thousand 
indignities  I  had  met  with,  I  was  willing  to  cast 
myself  away,  and  only  wanted  the  gulf  to  re- 
ceive me.  I  regarded  myself  as  one  of  those 
i-ile  things  that  nature  had  designed  should  be 


176  Zbc  Dicar  of  MaJ^eficlD 

thrown  by  into  her  lumber-room,  there  to  perish 
in  obscurity,  I  had  still,  however,  half  a  guinea 
left,  and  of  that  I  thought  Fortune  herself 
should  not  deprive  me  ;  but  in  order  to  be  sure 
of  this,  I  was  resolved  to  go  instantly  and  spend 
it  while  I  had  it,  and  then  trust  to  occurrence 
for  the  rest.  As  I  was  going  with  this  resolu- 
tion, it  happened  that  Mr.  Crispe's  office  seemed 
invitingly  open  to  give  me  a  welcome  reception. 
In  this  office  Mr.  Crispe  kindly  offers  all  his 
Majestj-'s  subjects  a  generous  promise  of  thirty 
pounds  a  year ;  for  which  promise  all  they 
give  in  return  is  their  liberty  for  life,  and  per- 
mission to  let  him  transport  them  to  America  as 
slaves.  I  was  happy  at  finding  a  place  where  I 
could  lose  my  fears  in  desperation,  and  entered 
this  cell,  for  it  had  the  appearance  of  one,  with 
the  devotion  of  a  monastic.  Here  I  found  a 
number  of  poor  creatures,  all  in  circumstances 
like  m3^self,  expecting  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Crispe, 
presenting  a  true  epitome  of  English  impatience. 
Each  untractable  soul  at  variance  w^ith  Fortune, 
wTeaked  her  injuries  on  their  own  hearts  ;  but 
Mr.  Crispe  at  last  came  down,  and  all  our  mur- 
murs w^ere  hushed.  He  deigned  to  regard  me 
wdth  an  air  of  peculiar  approbation,  and  indeed 
he  w^as  the  first  man  who  for  a  month  past  had 
talked  to  me  with  smiles.  After  a  few  questions, 
he  found  I  was  fit  for  every  thing  in  the  world. 


Zbc  IDicar  of  makefielD 


177 


He  paused  a  while  upon  the  properest  means  of 
providing  for  me,  and  slapping  his  forehead  as 
if  he  had  found  it,  assured  me  that  there  was  at 
that  time  an  embassy  talked  of  from  the  synod 
of  Pennsylvania  to  the  Chickasaw  Indians,  and 


MR.   CRISPE'S   OFFICE. 

that  he  would  use  his  interest  to  get  me  made 
secretary.  I  knew  in  my  own  heart  that  the 
fellow  lied,  and  yet  his  promise  gave  me  pleas- 
ure ;  there  was  something  so  magnificent  in 
the  sound.  I  fairly,  therefore,  di\dded  my  half 
guinea,  one  half  of  which  went  to  be  added  to 


178  ^be  Dicar  of  "CClaftetlelO 

his  thirty  thousand  pound,  and  with  the  other 
half  I  resolved  to  go  to  the  next  tavern  to  be 
there  more  happy  than  he. 

"As  I  was  going  out  with  that  resolution,  I 
was  met  at  the  door  by  the  captain  of  a  ship, 
with  whom  I  had  formerly  some  little  acquaint- 
ance, and  he  agreed  to  be  my  companion  over 
a  bowl  of  punch.  As  I  never  chose  to  make  a 
secret  of  my  circumstances,  he  assured  me  that 
I  was  upon  the  verj'  point  of  ruin  in  listening  to 
the  ofifice-keeper's  promises  ;  for  that  he  only 
designed  to  sell  me  to  the  plantations.  '  But,' 
continued  he,  '  I  fancy  you  might,  by  a  much 
shorter  voyage,  be  very  easily  put  into  a  genteel 
way  of  bread.  Take  my  advice.  My  ship  sails 
to-morrow  for  Amsterdam  :  what  if  you  go  in 
her  as  a  passenger  ?  The  moment  you  land,  all 
you  have  to  do  is  to  teach  the  Dutchmen  Eng- 
lish, and  I  '11  warrant  you  '11  get  pupils  and 
money  enough.  I  suppose  you  understand 
English,'^  added  he,  *by  this  time,  or  the  deuce 
is  in  it.'  I  confidently  assured  him  of  that; 
but  expressed  a  doubt  whether  the  Dutch 
would  be  willing  to  learn  English.  He  afiSrmed, 
with  an  oath,  that  they  were  fond  of  it  to  dis- 
traction ;  and  upon  that  affirmation  I  agreed 
with  his  proposal,  and  embarked  the  next  day 
to  teach  the  Dutch  English  in  Holland.  The 
wind  was  fair,  our  voyage  short,  and  after  hav- 


Zbc  \Dicar  of  "MakefielO  179 


ing  paid  my  passage  with  half  my  movables,  I 
found  myself,  as  fallen  from  the  skies,  a  stranger 
in  one  of  the  principal  streets  of  Amsterdam. 
In  this  situation  I  was  unwilling  to  let  any  time 
pass  unemployed  in  teaching.  I  addressed  my- 
self, therefore,  to  two  or  three  of  those  I  met, 
whose  appearance  seemed  most  promising  ;  but 
it  was  impossible  to  make  ourselves  mutually 
understood.  It  was  not  till  this  very  moment  I 
recollected  that,  in  order  to  teach  the  Dutchmen 
English,  it  was  necessary  that  they  should  first 
teach  me  Dutch.  How  I  came  to  overlook  so 
obvious  an  objection  is  to  me  amazing  ;  but 
certain  it  is  I  overlooked  it. 

"  This  scheme  thus  blown  up,  I  had  some 
thoughts  of  fairly  shipping  back  to  Bngland 
again  ;  but  falling  into  company  with  an  Irish 
student  who  was  returning  from  Lou  vain,  our 
conversation  turning  upon  topics  of  literature 
(for,  by  the  way,  it  may  be  observed  that  I  al- 
ways forgot  the  meanness  of  my  circumstances 
when  I  could  converse  upon  such  subjects), 
from  him  I  learned  that  there  were  not  two 
men  in  his  whole  university  who  understood 
Greek.  This  amazed  me.  I  instantly  resolved 
to  travel  to  Louvain,  and  there  live  by  teaching 
Greek ;  and  in  this  design  I  was  heartened  by 
my  brother  student,  who  threw  out  some  hints 
that  a  fortune  might  be  got  by  it. 


i8o  ^be  IDicar  ot  mafiefielD 

"I  set  boldly  forward  the  next  morning. 
Every  day  lessened  the  burthen  of  my  movables, 
like  ^sop  and  his  basket  of  bread ;  for  I  paid 
them  for  my  lodgings  to  the  Dutch  as  I  travelled 
on.  When  I  came  to  Louvain,  I  was  resolved 
not  to  go  sneaking  to  the  lower  professors  ;  but 
openly  tendered  my  talents  to  the  principal 
himself.  I  went,  had  admittance,  and  offered 
him  my  service  as  a  master  of  the  Greek  lan- 
guage, which  I  had  been  told  was  a  desideratum 
in  this  university.  The  principal  seemed  at 
first  to  doubt  of  my  abilities ;  but  of  these  I 
offered  to  convince  him,  by  turning  a  part  of 
any  Greek  author  he  should  fix  upon  into 
Latin.  Finding  me  perfectly  earnest  in  my 
proposals,  he  addressed  me  thus  :  '  You  see 
me,  young  man,'  continued  he,  'I  never  learned 
Greek,  and  I  don't  find  that  I  have  ever  missed 
it.  I  have  had  a  doctor's  cap  and  gown  without 
Greek  ;  I  have  ten  thousand  florins  a-yearwith- 
'6ut  Greek  ;  I  eat  heartily  without  Greek  ;  and, 
in  short,'  continued  he,  'as  I  don't  know 
Greek,  I  do  not  believe  there  is  any  good  in  it." 

"I  was  now  too  far  from  home  to  think  of 
returning  ;  so  I  resolved  to  go  forward.  I  had 
some  knowledge  of  music,  with  a  tolerable 
voice,  and  now  turned  what  was  once  my 
amusement  into  a  present  means  of  subsistence. 
T  passed  among  the  harmless  peasants  of  Flan- 


^be  IDicar  of  TMafteficlD 


i8i 


ders,  and  amon^  such  of  the  French  as  were 
poor  enough  to  be  very  merry  ;  for  I  ever  found 
them  sprightly   in  proportion  to  their  wants. 


||3%W'/''; 


GEORGE  AND  THE   COTTAGERS. 


Whenever  I  approached  a  peasant's  house 
towards  night-fall,  I  played  one  of  my  moji 
merry  tunes,  and  that  procured  nie  not  only  a 


i82  Jibe  Dicar  ot  limakefielD 

lodging,  but  subsistence  for  the  next  day.  I 
once  or  twice  attempted  to  play  for  people  of 
fashion  ;  but  they  always  thought  my  perform- 
ance odious,  and  never  rewarded  me  even  with 
a  trifle.  This  was  to  me  the  more  extraordi- 
nary, as  whenever  I  used  in  better  days  to  play 
for  company,  when  playing  was  my  amuse- 
ment, my  music  never  failed  to  throw  them 
into  raptures,  and  the  ladies  especially  ;  but  as 
it  was  now  my  only  means,  it  was  received  with 
contempt ;  a  proof  how  ready  the  world  is  to 
underrate  those  talents  by  which  a  man  is  sup- 
ported. 

"  In  this  manner  I  proceeded  to  Paris,  with 
no  design  but  just  to  look  about  me,  and  then 
to  go  forward.  The  people  of  Paris  are  much 
fonder  of  strangers  that  have  money  than  of 
those  that  have  wit.  As  I  could  not  boast 
much  of  either,  I  was  no  great  favorite.  After 
walking  about  the  town  four  or  five  days,  and 
seeing  the  outside  of  the  best  houses,  I  was 
preparing  to  leave  this  retreat  of  venal  hospi- 
tality, when,  passing  through  one  of  the  princi- 
pal streets,  whom  should  I  meet  but  our  cousin 
to  whom  you  first  recommended  me.  This 
meeting  was  very  agreeable  to  me,  and  I  believe 
not  displeasing  to  him.  He  inquired  into  the 
nature  of  my  journey  to  Paris,  and  informed 
me  of  his  own  business  there,  which  was  to  col- 


ZTbe  Vicat  of  1imal^efiel&  183 


lect  pictures,  medals,  intaglios,  and  antiques  of 
all  kinds,  for  a  gentleman  in  London,  who  had 
just  stepped  into  taste  and  a  large  fortune.  I 
was  the  more  surprised  at  seeing  our  cousin 
pitched  upon  for  this  office,  as  he  himself  had 
often  assured  me  he  knew  nothing  of  the  matter. 
Upon  asking  how  he  had  been  taught  the  art  of 
a  cognoscento  so  very  suddenly,  he  assured  me 
that  nothing  was  more  easy.  The  whole  secret 
consisted  in  a  strict  adherence  to  two  rules  :  the 
one,  always  to  observe  the  picture  might  have 
been  better  if  the  painter  had  taken  more  pains  ; 
and  the  other,  to  praise  the  works  of  Pietro 
Perugino.  'But,'  says  he,  'as  I  once  taught 
you  how  to  be  an  author  in  London,  I  '11  now 
undertake  to  instruct  you  in  the  art  of  picture- 
buying  at  Paris. ' 

"  With  this  proposal  I  very  readily  closed, 
as  it  was  living,  and  now  all  my  ambition  was 
to  live.  I  went,  therefore,  to  his  lodgings,  im- 
proved my  dress  by  his  assistance,  and  after 
some  time  accompanied  him  to  auctions  of  pic- 
tures, where  the  English  gentry  were  expected 
to  be  purchasers.  I  was  not  a  little  surprised 
at  his  intimacy  with  people  of  the  best  fashion, 
who  referred  themselves  to  his  judgment  upon 
every  picture  or  medal,  as  to  an  unerring  stand- 
ard of  taste.  He  made  very  good  use  of  my 
assistance    upon    these    occasions ;    for    when. 


i84  XLbc  Dicar  of  MakefielD 

asked  his  opinion,  he  would  gravely  take  me 
aside  and  ask  mine,  shrug,  look  wise,  return, 
and  assure  the  company  that  he  could  give  no 
opinion  upon  an  affair  of  so  much  importance. 
Yet  there  was  sometimes  an  occasion  for  a  more 
supported  assurance.  I  remember  to  have  seen 
him,  after  giving  his  opinion  that  the  coloring 
of  a  picture  was  not  mellow  enough,  very  de- 
liberately take  a  brush  with  brown  varnish, 
that  was  accidentally  lying  by,  and  rub  it  over 
the  piece  with  great  composure  before  all  the 
company,  and  then  ask  if  he  had  not  improved 
the  tints. 

"  When  he  had  finished  his  commission  in 
Paris,  he  left  me  strongly  recommended  to  sev- 
eral men  of  distinction,  as  a  person  very  proper 
for  a  travelling  tutor ;  and  after  some  time  I  was 
employed  in  that  capacity  by  a  gentleman  who 
brought  his  ward  to  Paris,  in  order  to  set  him 
forward  on  his  tour  through  Europe.  I  was  to 
be  the  young  gentleman's  governor  ;  but  with  a 
proviso,  that  he  should  always  be  permitted  to 
govern  himself  My  pupil,  in  fact,  understood 
the  art  of  guiding  in  money  concerns  much  bet- 
ter than  I.  He  was  heir  to  a  fortune  of  about 
two  hundred  thousand  pounds,  left  him  by  an 
uncle  in  the  West  Indies ;  and  his  guardians, 
to  qualify  him  for  the  management  of  it,  had 
bound  him  apprentice  to   an   attorn e3\     Thus 


XLbc  IDicar  of  IKaakefielD  185 

avarice  was  his  prevailing  passion  :  all  his  ques- 
tions on  the  road  were  how  money  might  be 
saved ;  which  was  the  least  expensive  course  of 
travel ;  whether  any  thing  could  be  bought  that 
would  turn  to  account  when  disposed  of  again  in 
London,  Such  curiosities  on  the  way  as  could 
be  seen  for  nothing  he  was  ready  enough  to 
look  at ;  but  if  the  sight  of  them  was  to  be  paid 
for,  he  usually  asserted  that  he  had  been  told 
they  were  not  worth  seeing.  He  never  paid  a 
bill  that  he  would  not  observe  how  amazingly 
expensive  travelling  was,  and  all  this  though  he 
was  not  yet  twenty-one.  When  arrived  at  Leg- 
horn, as  we  took  a  walk  to  look  at  the  port  and 
shipping,  he  inquired  the  expense  of  the  pas- 
sage by  sea  home  to  England.  This  he  was 
informed  was  but  a  trifle  compared  to  his  re- 
turning by  land ;  he  was  therefore  unable  to 
withstand  the  temptation  ;  so  paying  me  the 
small  part  of  my  salary  that  was  due,  he  took 
leave,  and  embarked  with  only  one  attendant 
for  London. 

"I  now,  therefore,  was  left  once  more  upon 
the  world  at  large  ;  but  then  it  was  a  thing  I 
was  used  to.  However,  my  skill  in  music  could 
avail  me  nothing  in  a  country  where  every 
peasant  was  a  better  musician  than  I  ;  but  by 
this  time  I  had  acquired  another  talent,  which 
answered  my  purpose  as  well,  and  this  was  a 


ig6  Ube  IDicar  of  Ma??cficlO 


skill  in  disputation.  In  all  the  foreign  univer- 
sities and  convents  there  are  upon  certain  days 
philosophical  theses  maintained  against  every 
adventitious  disputant ;  for  which,  if  the  cham- 
pion opposes  with  any  dexterity,  he  can  claim 
a  gratuity  in  money,  a  dinner,  and  a  bed  for 
one  night.  In  this  manner,  therefore,  I  fought 
my  way  towards  England,  walking  along  from 
city  to  city,  examined  mankind  more  nearly, 
and,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  saw  both  sides  of 
the  picture.  My  remarks,  however,  are  but 
few :  I  found  that  monarchy  was  the  best  gov- 
ernment for  the  poor  to  live  in,  and  common- 
wealths for  the  rich.  I  found  that  riches  in 
general  were  in  every  country  another  name  for 
freedom  ;  and  that  no  man  is  so  fond  of  liberty 
himself,  as  not  to  be  desirous  of  subjecting 
the  will  of  some  indi%nduals  in  society  to  his 
own. 

"  Upon  my  arrival  in  England  I  resolved  to 
pay  my  respects  first  to  you,  and  then  to  enlist 
as  a  volunteer  in  the  first  expedition  that  was 
going  forward  ;  but  on  my  journey  down  my 
resolutions  were  changed  by  meeting  an  old 
acquaintance,  who,  I  found,  belonged  to  a  com- 
pany of  comedians  that  were  going  to  make  a 
summer  campaign  in  the  country.  The  com- 
pany seemed  not  much  to  disapprove  of  me  for 
an  associate.     They  all  however  apprised  me  of 


Zbc  IDlcar  of  limaftefielD  187 

the  importance  of  the  task  at  which  I  aimed  ; 
that  the  public  was  a  many-headed  monster, 
and  that  only  such  as  had  very  good  heads 
could  please  it  :  that  acting  was  not  to  be 
learned  in  a  day  ;  and  that  without  some  tradi- 
tional shrugs,  which  had  been  on  the  stage, 
and  only  on  the  stage,  these  hundred  years,  I 
could  never  pretend  to  please.  The  next  diffi- 
culty was  in  fitting  me  with  parts,  as  almost 
e\ery  character  was  in  keeping.  I  was  driven 
for  some  time  from  one  character  to  another, 
till  at  last  Horatio  was  fixed  upon,  which  the 
piesence  of  the  present  company  has  happily 
hi  ndered  me  from  acting. ' ' 


■^ii^ 


CHAPTER  XXL 


The  Short  Continuance  of  Friendship  among  the  Vicious, 
Which  is  Coeval  only  with  Mutual  Satisfaction, 

MY  son's  account  was  too  long  to  be  deliv- 
ered at  once  ;  the  first  part  of  it  was  be- 
gun that  night,  and  he  was  concluding  the  rest 
after  dinner  the  next  day,  when  the  appearance 
of  Mr.  Thornhill's  equipage  at  the  door  seemed 
to  make  a  pause  in  the  general  satisfaction. 
The  butler,  who  was  now  become  my  friend  in 
the  family,  informed  me  with  a  whisper  that 
the  'Squire  had  already  made  some  overtures  to 
Miss  Wilmot,  and  that  her  aunt  and  uncle 
seemed  highly  to  approve  the  match.  Upon 
Mr.  Thornhill's  entering,  he  seemed  at  seeing 
my  son  and  me  to  start  back  ;  but  I  readily  im- 
puted that  to  surprise  and  not  displeasure. 
However,  upon  our  advancing  to  salute  him,  he 
returned  our  greeting  with  the  most  apparent 
candor  ;  and  after  a  short  time  his  presence 
served  only  to  increase  the  general  good-humor. 


trbe  IDfcar  ox  'Maketlel& 


After  tea  he  called  me  aside  to  inquire  after 
my  daughter  ;  but  upon  my  informing  him  that 
my  inquiry  was  unsuccessftil,  he  seemed  greatly 
surprised  ;  adding  that  he  had  been  since  fre- 
quently at  my  house  iu  order  to  comfort  the 
rest  of  my  famil}^,  whom  he  left  perfectly  well. 
He  then  asked  if  I  had  communicated  her  mis- 
fortune to  Miss  Wilmot  or  my  son  ;  and  upon 
my  replying  that  I  had  not  told  them  as  yet,  he 
greatly  approved  my  prudence  and  precaution, 
desiring  me  by  all  means  to  keep  it  a  secret : 
"For  at  best,"  cried  he,  "it  is  but  divulging 
one's  own  infamy  ;  and  perhaps  Miss  Li\^  may 
not  be  so  guilty  as  we  all  imagine."  We  were 
here  interrupted  by  a  servant,  who  came  to  ask 
the  'Squire  in  to  stand  up  at  country-dances  ; 
so  that  he  left  me  quite  pleased  w4th  the  inter- 
est he  seemed  to  take  in  my  concerns.  *His 
addresses  however  to  Miss  Wilmot  were  too  ob- 
vious to  be  mistaken  ;  and  yet  she  seemed  not 
perfectly  pleased,  but  bore  them  rather  in  com- 
pliance to  the  will  of  her  aunt  than  from  real 
inclination.  I  had  even  the  satisfaction  to  see 
her  lavish  some  kind  looks  upon  my  unfortu- 
nate son,  which  the  other  could  neither  extort 
by  his  fortune  nor  assiduity.  Mr.  Thornhill's 
seeming  composure,  however,  not  a  little  sur- 
prised me.  We  had  now  continued  here  a 
week,  at  the  pressing  instance  of  Mr.  Arnold; 


190  trbe  IDicar  of  ma\{cnclt> 

but  each  day  the  more  tenderness  Miss  Wilmot 
showed  my  son,  Mr.  Thornhill's  friendship 
seemed  proportionably  to  increase  for  him. 

He  had  formerly  made  us  the  most  kind  as- 
surances of  using  his  interest  to  serve  the  fam- 
ily ;  but  now  his  generosity  was  not  confined  to 
promises  alone.  The  morning  I  designed  for  my 
departure,  Mr.  Thorn  hill  came  to  me,  -wnth 
looks  of  real  pleasure,  to  inform  me  of  a  piece 
of  service  he  had  done  for  his  friend  George. 
This  was  nothing  less  than  his  having  procured 
him  an  ensign's  commission  in  one  of  the  regi- 
ments that  was  going  to  the  West  Indies,  for 
which  he  had  promised  but  one  hundred 
pounds,  his  interest  having  been  sufficient  to 
get  an  abatement  of  the  other  two.  "As  for 
this  trifling  piece  of  service,"  continued  the 
youfig  gentleman,  "  I  desire  no  other  reward 
but  the  pleasure  of  having  serv-ed  my  friend ; 
and  as  for  the  hundred  pounds  to  be  paid,  if 
you  are  unable  to  raise  it  yourselves,  I  will  ad- 
vance it,  and  you  shall  repay  me  at  your  lei- 
sure." This  was  a  favor  we  wanted  words  to 
express  our  sense  of ;  I  readily  therefore  gave 
my  bond  for  the  money,  and  testified  as  much 
gratitude  as  if  I  never  intended  to  pay. 

George  was  to  depart  for  town  the  next  day 
to  secure  his  commission,  in  pursuance  of  his 
generous  patron's   directions,    who  judged    it 


Zbc  IDicar  of  WaftefielO  191 

highly  expedient  to  use  despatch,  lest,  in  the 
meantime,  another  should  step  in  with  more 
advantageous  proposals.  The  next  morning, 
therefore,  our  young  soldier  was  early  prepared 
for  his  departure,  and  seemed  the  only  person 
among  us  that  was  not  affected  by  it.  Neither 
the  fatigues  and  dangers  he  was  going  to  en- 
counter, nor  the  friends  and  mistress  (for  Miss 
Wilmot  actually  loved  him)  he  was  leaving  be- 
hind, any  way  damped  his  spirits.  After  he  had 
taken  leave  of  the  rest  of  the  company,  I  gave 
him  all  I  had,  my  blessing.  "And  now,  my 
boy, ' '  cried  I,  ' '  thou  art  going  to  fight  for  thy 
country,  remember  how  thy  brave  grandfather 
fought  for  his  sacred  king,  when  loyalty  among 
Britons  was  a  virtue.  Go,  my  boy,  and  imitate 
him  in  all  but  his  misfortunes,  if  it  was  a  mis- 
fortune to  die  with  Ivord  Falkland.  Go,  my 
boy,  and  if  you  fall,  though  distant,  exposed, 
and  unwept  by  those  that  love  you,  the  most 
precious  tears  are  those  with  which  heaven  be- 
dews the  unburied  head  of  a  soldier." 

The  next  morning  I  took  leave  of  the  good 
family  that  had  been  kind  enough  to  entertain 
me  so  long,  not  without  several  expressions  of 
gratitude  to  Mr.  Thornhill  for  his  late  bounty. 
I  left  them  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  that  happi- 
ness which  affluence  and  good-breeding  pro- 
cure, and  returned  towards  home,  despairing  of 


192  ^be  IDlcar  of  makefielD 

ever  finding  my  daughter  more,  but  sending  a 
sigh  to  Heaven  to  spare  and  forgive  her.  I  was 
now  come  within  about  twenty  miles  of  home, 
having  hired  a  horse  to  carry  me,  as  I  was  yet 
but  weak,  and  comforted  myself  with  the  hopes 
of  soon  seeing  all  I  held  dearest  upon  earth.  But 
the  night  coming  on.,  I  put  up  at  a  little  pub- 
lic-house by  the  roadside,  and  asked  for  the 
landlord's  company  over  a  pint  of  wine.  We 
sat  beside  his  kitchen  fire,  which  was  the 
best  room  in  the  house,  and  chatted  on  politics 
and  the  news  of  the  country.  We  happened, 
among  other  topics,  to  talk  of  young  'Squire 
Thornhill,  who,  the  host  assured  me,  was  hated 
as  much  as  his  uncle  Sir  William,  who  some- 
times came  down  to  the  country,  was  loved. 
He  went  on  to  observe,  that  he  made  it  his 
whole  study  to  betray  the  daughters  of  such  as 
received  him  into  their  houses,  and  after  a  fort- 
night or  three  weeks'  possession,  turned  them 
out  unrewarded  and  abandoned  to  the  world. 
As  we  continued  our  discourse  in  this  manner, 
his  wife,  who  had  been  out  to  get  change,  re- 
turned, and  perceiving  that  her  husband  was 
enjoying  a  pleasure  in  which  she  was  not  a 
sharer,  she  asked  him,  in  an  angrj^  tone,  what  he 
did  there  ;  to  which  he  only  replied  in  an  ironi- 
cal way,  by  drinking  her  health.  "Mr.  Sy- 
monds,"  cried  she,  "  you  use  me  very  ill,  and 


Zbe  Dicar  of  ma^efielO  193 

I  '11  bear  it  no  longer.  Here  three  parts  of  the 
business  is  left  for  me  to  do,  and  the  fourth  left 
unfinished  ;  while  you  do  nothing  but  soak  with 
the  guests  all  day  long  :  whereas  if  a  spoonful 
of  liquor  were  to  cure  me  of  a  fever,  I  never 
touch  a  drop. ' '  I  now  found  what  she  would  be 
at,  and  immediately  poured  her  out  a  glass, 
which  she  received  with  a  courtesy,  and  drink- 
ing towards  my  good  health, ' '  Sir, ' '  resumed  she, 
"  it  is  not  so  much  for  the  value  of  the  liquor  I 
am  angry,  but  one  cannot  help  it  when  the 
house  is  going  out  of  the  windows.  If  the  cus- 
tomers or  guests  are  to  be  dunned,  all  the  bur- 
den lies  upon  my  back  ;  he  'd  as  lief  eat  that 
glass  as  budge  after  them  himself.  There,  now, 
above-stairs,  we  have  a  young  woman  who  has 
come  to  take  up  her  lodgings  here,  and  I  don't 
believe  she  has  got  any  money,  by  her  over- 
civility.  I  am  certain  she  is  very  slow  of  pay- 
ment, and  I  wish  she  were  put  in  mind  of  it." — 
"  What  signifies  minding  her?  "  cried  the  host ; 
*'if  she  be  slow  she  is  sure." — "  I  don't  know 
that,"  replied  the  wife  :  "  but  I  know  that  I  am 
sure  she  has  been  here  a  fortnight,  and  we  have 
not  yet  seen  the  cross  of  her  money." — "  I  sup- 
pose, my  dear,"  cried  he,  "  we  shall  have  it  all 
in  a  lump." — "  In  a  lump  !  "  cried  the  other, 
"  I  hope  we  may  get  it  any  way  ;  and  that  I  am 
resolved  we  will  this  very   night,   or  out  she 


194  ^be  Dicar  of  "OIlaftefielD 

tramps,  bag  and  baggage." — "Consider,  my 
dear,"  cried  the  husband,  "she  is  a  gentlewo- 
man, and  deserves  more  respect." — "  As  for  the 
matter  of  that, ' '  returned  the  hostess,  ' '  gentle 
or  simple,  out  she  shall  pack  with  a  sassarara. 
Gentry  may  be  good  things  where  they  take  ; 
but  for  my  part  I  never  saw  much  good  of  them 
at  the  sign  of  the  Harrow." 

Thus  saying,  she  ran  up  a  narrow  flight  of 
stairs  that  went  from  the  kitchen  to  a  room 
overhead,  and  I  soon  perceived,  by  the  loudnesiJ 
of  her  voice,  and  the  bitterness  of  her  reproaches, 
that  no  money  was  to  be  had  from  her  lodger. 
I  could  hear  her  remonstrances  very  distinctly  : 
"Out,  I  say;  pack  out  this  moment;  tramp, 
thou  infamous  strumpet !  or  I  '11  give  thee  a 
mark  you  won't  be  the  better  for  this  three 
months.  What !  3'ou  trumpery,  to  come  and 
take  up  an  honest  house  ^^-ithout  cross  or  coin 
to  bless  yourself  with  ;  come  along,  I  say!  " — 
"  O  dear  madam,"  cried  the  stranger,  "pity  me, 
pity  a  poor  abandoned  creature  for  one  night, 
and  death  will  soon  do  the  rest !  "  I  instantly 
knew  the  voice  of  my  poor,  ruined  child  Olivia. 
I  flew  to  her  rescue,  while  the  woman  was  drag- 
ging her  along  by  the  hair,  and  I  caught  the  dear 
forlorn  wretch  in  my  arms.  "Welcome,  any 
way  welcome,  my  dearest  lost  one,  my  treasure, 
to  your  poor  old  father's  bosom!     Though  the 


^be  IDicar  of  Makefielt)  195 

vicious  forsake  thee,  there  is  yet  one  in  the  world 
that  will  never  forsake  thee  ;  though  thou  hadst 
ten  thousand  crimes  to  answer  for,  he  will  forget 
them  all." — "O  my  own  dear "  for  min- 
utes she  could  say  no  more — "  my  own  dearest, 
good  papa  !  Could  angels  be  kinder  !  How  do 
I  deserve  so  much  !  The  villain  !  I  hate  him 
and  myself,  to  be  a  reproach  to  such  goodness. 
You  can't  forgive  me.  I  know  you  cannot." 
— "Yes,  my  child,  from  my  heart  I  do  forgive 
thee  !  only  repent,  and  we  both  shall  yet  be 
happy.  We  shall  see  many  pleasant  days  yet ! 
my  Olivia!" — "Ah!  never,  sir,  never.  The 
rest  of  my  wretched  life  must  be  infamy  abroad 
and  shame  at  home.  But  alas  !  papa,  you  look 
much  paler  than  you  used  to  do.  Could  such  a 
thing  as  I  am  give  so  much  uneasiness  ?  Surely 
you  have  too  much  wisdom  to  take  the  miseries 
of  my   guilt   upon    yourself." — "Our  wisdom, 

young  woman,"  replied  I "  Ah,  why  so  cold 

a  name,  papa?"  cried  she.  "This  is  the  first 
time  you  ever  called  me  by  so  cold  a  name." — 
"  I  ask  pardon,  my  darling,"  returned  I ;  "  but  I 
was  going  to  observe  that  wisdom  makes  but  a 
slow  defence  against  trouble,  though  at  last  a 
sure  one." 

The  landlady  now  returned  to  know  if  we  did 
not  choose  a  more  genteel  apartment ;  to  which 
assenting,  we  were  shown   a  room  where   we 


196  Zbc  Dicar  of  "GmalftefielD 

could  converse  more  freely.  After  we  had 
talked  ourselves  into  some  degree  of  tranquillity, 
I  could  not  avoid  desiring  some  account  of  the 
gradations  that  led  to  her  present  wretched  situ- 
ation. " That  villain,  sir,"  said  she,  "from  the 
first  day  of  our  meeting  made  me  honorable 
though  private  proposals." 

"Villain,  indeed,"  cried  I ;  "  and  yet  it  in 
some  measure  surprises  me  how  a  person  of  Mr. 
Burchell's  good-sense  and  seeming  honor  could 
be  guilty  of  such  deliberate  baseness,  and  thus 
step  into  a  family  to  undo  it." 

' '  My  dear  papa, ' '  returned  my  daughter, 
"  you  labor  under  a  strange  mistake.  Mr.  Bur- 
chell  never  attempted  to  deceive  me  ;  instead 
of  that,  he  took  every  opportunity  of  privately 
admonishing  me  against  the  artifices  of  Mr. 
Thornhill,  who  I  now  find  was  even  worse  than 
he  represented  him." — "  Mr.  Thornhill  !  "  inter- 
rupted I,  "  can  it  be?" — "Yes,  sir,"  returned 
she,  "it  was  Mr.  Thornhill  who  seduced  me, 
who  employed  the  two  ladies,  as  he  called  them, 
but  who  in  fact  were  abandoned  women  of  the 
town  without  breeding  or  pity,  to  decoy  us  up 
to  London.  Their  artifices,  you  may  remember, 
would  have  certainly  succeeded,  but  for  Mr. 
Burchell's  letter,  who  directed  those  reproaches 
at  them,  which  we  all  applied  to  ourselves. 
How  he  came  to  have  so  much  influence   as 


XLbc  IDicar  of  MakefielD  197 

to  defeat  their  intentions  still  remains  a  secret 
to  me  ;  but  I  am  convinced  he  was  ever  our 
warmest,  sincerest  friend. ' ' 

"You  amaze  me,  my  dear,"  cried  I;  "but 
now  I  find  my  first  suspicions  of  Mr.  Thornhill's 
baseness  were  too  well  grounded  :  but  he  can 
triumph  in  security,  for  he  is  rich  and  we  are 
poor.  But  tell  me,  my  child,  sure  it  was  no 
small  temptation  that  could  thus  obliterate  all 
the  impressions  of  such  an  education  and  so 
virtuous  a  disposition  as  thine?  " 

"Indeed,  sir,"  replied  she,  "  he  owes  all  his 
triumph  to  the  desire  I  had  of  making  him  and 
not  myself  happy.  I  knew  that  the  ceremony 
of  our  marriage,  which  was  privately  performed 
by  a  Popish  priest,  was  no  way  binding,  and 
that  I  had  nothing  to  trust  to  but  his  honor." 
— "What!"  interrupted  I,  "and  were  you  in- 
deed married  by  a  priest,  and  in  orders?" — 
"Indeed,  sir,  we  were,"  replied  she,  "though 
we  were  both  sworn  to  conceal  his  name." — 
"  Why  then,  my  child,  come  to  my  arms  again  ; 
and  now  you  are  a  thousand  times  more  wel- 
come than  before  ;  for  you  are  now  his  wife  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  ;  nor  can  all  the  laws 
of  man,  though  written  upon  the  tablets  of  ada- 
mant, lessen  the  force  of  that  sacred  connection. ' ' 

"Alas!  papa,"  replied  she,  "you  are  but 
little  acquainted  with  his  villainies  ;    he  has 


198  Zbc  IDicar  ot  maftefielD 

been  married  already  by  the  same  priest  to  six 
or  eight  wives  more,  whom,  like  me,  he  has 
deceived  and  abandoned." 

"  Has  he  so  ?  "  cried  I,  '  then  we  must  hang 
the  priest,  and  you  shall  inform  against  him  to- 
morrow."— "But,  sir,"  returned  she,  "  will  that 
be  right,  when  I  am  sworn  to  secrecy  ?  " — "  My 
dear,"  I  replied,  "if  you  have  made  such  a 
promise  I  cannot,  nor  will  I  tempt  you  to  break 
it.  Even  though  it  may  benefit  the  public,  you 
must  not  inform  against  him.  In  all  human 
institutions  a  smaller  evil  is  allowed,  to  procure 
a  greater  good  :  as  in  politics,  a  province  may 
be  given  away  to  secure  a  kingdom  ;  in  medi- 
cine, a  limb  may  be  lopped  off  to  preserve  the 
body.  But  in  religion,  the  law  is  written  and 
inflexible,  never  to  do  evil.  And  this  law,  my 
child,  is  right ;  for  otherwise,  if  we  commit  a 
smaller  evil  to  procure  a  greater  good,  certain 
guilt  would  be  thus  incurred,  in  expectation  of 
contingent  advantage.  And  though  the  advan- 
tage should  certainly  follow,  yet  the  inter\^al 
between  commission  and  advantage,  which  is 
allowed  to  be  guilty,  may  be  that  in  which  we 
are  called  away  to  answer  for  the  things  we 
have  done,  and  the  volume  of  human  actions  is 
closed  forever.  But  I  interrupt  you,  my  dear; 
go  on." 

"The   next    morning,"    continued  she,    "I 


trbe  IDicar  of  MafteficID 


199 


found  what  little  expectation  I  was  to  have  from 
his  sincerity.  That  very  morning  he  introduced 
me  to  two  more  unhappy  women,  whom,  like 
me,  he  had  deceived,  but  who  lived  in  contented 
prostitution.  I  loved  him  too  tenderly  to  bear 
such  rivals  in  his  affections,  and  strove  to  forget 
my  infamy  in  a  tumult  of  pleasure.     With  this 


OLIVIA,    THORNHILL,   AND  THE  YOtING  BAEONET. 

view,  I  danced,  dressed,  and  talked  ;  but  still 
was  unhappy.  The  gentlemen  who  visited  there 
told  me  every  moment  of  the  power  of  my 
charms,  and  this  only  contributed  to  increase 
my  melancholy,  as  I  had  thrown  all  their  power 
quite  away.  Thus  each  day  I  grew  more  pen- 
sive,   and  he  more  insolent ;    till  at  last  the 


200  XLhc  IDicar  of  MakefielD 


monster  had  the  assurance  to  offer  me  to  a 
young  baronet  of  his  acquaintance.  Need  I 
describe,  sir,  how  his  ingratitude  stung  me  ! 
My  answer  to  his  proposal  was  almost  madness. 
I  desired  to  part.  As  I  was  going,  he  offered 
me  a  purse :  but  I  flung  it  at  him  with  indig- 
nation, and  burst  from  him  in  a  rage  that  for 
a  while  kept  me  insensible  of  the  miseries  of 
my  situation.  But  I  soon  looked  round  me, 
and  saw  myself  a  vile,  abject,  guilty  thing, 
without  one  friend  in  the  world  to  apply  to. 

"Justin  that  interval  a  stage-coach  happen- 
ing to  pass  by,  I  took  a  place  ;  it  being  my  only 
aim  to  be  driven  at  a  distance  from  a  wretch  I 
despised  and  detested.  I  was  set  dowm  here, 
where,  since  my  arrival,  my  own  anxiety  and  this 
woman's  unkindness  have  been  my  only  com- 
panions. The  hours  of  pleasure  that  I  have 
passed  with  my  mother  and  sister  now  grow 
painful  to  me.  Their  sorrows  are  much  ;  but 
mine  are  greater  than  theirs  :  for  mine  are 
mixed  with  guilt  and  infamy." 

"Have  patience,  my  child,"  cried  I,  "and  I 
hope  things  will  yet  be  better.  Take  some 
repose  to-night,  and  to-morrow  I  '11  carry  you 
home  to  your  mother  and  the  rest  of  the  family, 
from  whom  you  will  receive  a  kind  reception. 
Poor  woman  !  this  has  gone  to  her  heart,  but 
she  loves  you  still,  Olivia,  and  will  forget  it." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Offences  are  Easily  Pardoned  Where  There  is  I^ove  at 
Bottom. 

''P^HB  next  morning  I  took  my  daughter  behind 
1  me,  and  set  out  on  my  return  home.  As  we 
travelled  along,  I  strove  by  everv^  persuasion  to 
calm  her  sorrows  and  fears,  and  to  arm  her 
with  resolution  to  bear  the  presence  of  her 
offended  mother.  I  took  every  opportunity, 
from  the  prospect  of  a  fine  country,  through 
which  we  passed,  to  observe  how  much  kinder 
Heaven  was  to  us,  than  we  to  each  other,  and 
that  the  misfortunes  of  nature's  making  were 
very  few.  I  assured  her  that  she  should  never 
perceive  any  change  in  my  affections,  and  that 
during  my  life,  which  yet  might  be  long,  she 
might  depend  upon  a  guardian  and  an  instruc- 
tor. I  armed  her  against  the  censures  of  the 
world ;  showed  her  that  books  were  sweet,  un- 
reproaching  companions  to  the  miserable,  and 
that  if  they  could  not  bring  us  to  enjoy  life, 
they  would  at  least  teach  us  to  endure  it. 


y 


202  tTbe  IDicar  of  liClakeficlt) 

The  hired  horse  that  we  rode  was  to  be  put  up 

that  night  at  an  inn  by  the  way,  within  about 
five  miles  from  my  house  ;  and  as  I  was  willing 
to  prepare  my  family  for  my  daughter's  recep- 
tion, I  determined  to  leave  her  that  night  at  the 
inn,  and  to  return  for  her,  accompanied  by  my 
daughter  Sophia,  early  the  next  morning.  It 
was  night  before  we  reached  our  appointed 
stage  ;  however,  after  seeing  her  pro%4ded  with 
a  decent  apartment,  and  having  ordered  the 
hostess  to  prepare  proper  refreshments,  I  kissed 
her,  and  proceeded  towards  home.  And  now 
my  heart  caught  new  sensations  of  pleasure  the 
nearer  I  approached  that  peaceful  mansion.  As 
a  bird  that  had  been  frighted  from  its  nest,  my 
affections  outwent  my  haste,  and  hovered  round 
my  little  fireside  with  all  the  rapture  of  expec- 
tation. I  called  up  the  many  fond  things  I  had 
to  say,  and  anticipated  the  welcome  I  was  to  re- 
ceive. I  already  felt  my  wife's  tender  embrace, 
and  smiled  at  the  joy  of  my  little  ones.  As  I 
walked  but  slowh^,  the  night  waned  apace.  The 
laborers  of  the  day  were  all  retired  to  rest ;  the 
lights  were  out  in  every  cottage ;  no  sounds  were 
heard  but  of  the  shrilling  cock,  and  the  deep- 
mouthed  watch-dog  at  hollow  distance.  I  ap- 
proached my  little  abode  of  pleasure,  and  before 
I  was  within  a  furlong  of  the  place,  our  honest 
mastiff  came  running  to  welcome  me. 


Zhc  Dicar  ot  makefielt) 


203 


It  was  now  near  midnight  that  I  came  to  knock 
at  my  door  ;  all  was  still  and  silent  ;  my  heart 
dilated  with  unutterable  happiness  ;  when,  to 


my  amazement,  I  saw  the  house  bursting  out  in 
a  blaze  of  fire,  and  every  aperture  red  with  con- 
flagration !     I  gave  a  loud  convulsive  outcry, 


204  XLbc  XDicav  of  llClaftefielD 

aud  fell  upon  the  pavement  insensible.  This 
alarmed  my  son,  who  had  till  this  been  asleep, 
and  he  perceiving  the  flames  instantly  waked 
my  wife  aud  daughter,  and  all  running  out 
naked  and  wild  with  apprehension,  recalled  me 
to  life  with  their  anguish.  But  it  was  only  to 
objects  of  new  terror  ;  for  the  flames  hadb}^  this 
time  caught  the  roof  of  our  dwelling,  part  after 
part  continuingto  fall  in,  while  the  family  stood 
with  silent  agony  looking  on  as  if  they  enjoyed 
the  blaze.  I  gazed  upon  them  and  upon  it  by 
turns,  and  then  looked  round  me  for  my  two  little 
ones  ;  but  they  were  not  to  be  seen.  O  misery ! 
"  Where,"  cried  I,  "  where  are  my  little  ones?  " 
— "  They  are  burnt  to  death  in  the  flames,"  says 
my  wife,  calmly,  "  and  I  will  die  with  them." 
That  moment  I  heard  the  cry  of  the  babes  within, 
who  were  just  awaked  by  the  fire,  and  nothing 
could  have  stopped  me.  "  Where,  where  are  my 
children  ?"  cried  I,  rushing  through  the  flames, 
and  bursting  the  door  of  the  chamber  in  which 
they  were  confined ;  ' '  Where  are  my  little  ones  ? ' ' 
— *'  Here,  dear  papa,  here  we  are,"  cried  they  to- 
gether, while  the  flames  were  just  catching  the 
bed  where  they  lay.  I  caught  them  both  in  my 
arms,  aud  snatched  them  through  the  fire  as  fast 
as  possible,  while  just  as  I  was  got  out,  the  roof 
sunk  in.  "  Now,"  cried  I,  holding  up  my  chil- 
dren, "  now  let  the  flames  bum  on,  and  all  my 


XLbc  tDtcar  ot  'UaaKefiel&  205 

possessions  perish.  Here  they  are ;  I  have  saved 
my  treasure.  Here,  my  dearest,  here  are  our 
treasures,  and  we  shall  yet  be  happy."  We 
kissed  our  little  darlings  a  thousand  times,  they 
clasped  us  round  the  neck,  and  seemed  to  share 
our  transports,  while  their  mother  laughed  and 
wept  by  turns. 

I  now  stood  a  calm  spectator  of  the  flames, 
and  after  some  time  began  to  perceive  that  my 
arm  to  the  shoulder  was  scorched  in  a  terrible 
manner.  It  was,  therefore,  out  of  my  power  to 
give  my  son  any  assistance,  either  in  attempting 
to  save  our  goods,  or  preventing  the  flames 
spreading  to  our  corn.  By  this  time  the  neigh- 
bors were  alarmed,  and  came  running  to  our 
assistance  ;  but  all  they  could  do  was  to  stand, 
like  us,  spectators  of  the  calamity.  My  goods, 
among  which  were  the  notes  I  had  reserved  for 
my  daughters'  fortunes,  were  entirely  consumed, 
except  a  box  with  some  papers  that  stood  in  the 
kitchen,  and  two  or  three  things  more  of  little 
consequence,  which  my  son  brought  away  in  the 
beginning.  The  neighbors  contributed,  how- 
ever, what  they  could  to  lighten  our  distress. 
They  brought  us  clothes,  and  furnished  one  of 
our  out-houses  with  kitchen  utensils ;  so  that  by 
daylight  we  had  another,  though  a  wretched 
dwelling,  to  retire  to.  My  honest  next  neigh- 
bor and  his  children  were  not  the  least  assiduous 


2o6  trbe  IDicar  of  Wia^icflcib 

in  providing  us  with  every  thing  necessary,  and 
offering  whatever  consolation  untutored  benevo- 
lence could  suggest. 

When  the  fears  of  my  family  had  subsided, 
curiosity  to  know  the  cause  of  my  long  stay  be- 
gan to  take  place  ;  having,  therefore,  informed 
them  of  ever\'  particular,  I  proceeded  to  prepare 
them  for  the  reception  of  our  lost  one,  and  though 
we  had  nothing  but  wretchedness  now  to  impart, 
I  was  willing  to  procure  her  a  welcome  to  what 
we  had.  This  task  would  have  been  more  diffi- 
cult but  for  our  recent  calamity,  w^hich  had  hum- 
bled my  wife's  pride  and  blunted  it  by  more  poig- 
nant afflictions.  Being  unable  to  go  for  my  poor 
childmyself,  as  my  arm  grew  very  painful,  I  sent 
my  son  and  daughter,  who  soon  returned,  sup- 
porting the  wretched  delinquent,  who  had  not 
the  courage  to  look  up  at  her  mother,  w^hom  no 
instructions  of  mine  could  persuade  to  a  perfect 
reconciliation;  for  women  have  a  much  stronger 
sense  of  female  error  than  men.  ' '  Ah,  madam, ' ' 
cried  her  mother,  ' '  this  is  but  a  poor  place  you 
have  come  to  after  so  much  finery.  My  daugh- 
ter Sophy  and  I  can  afford  but  little  entertain- 
ment to  persons  who  have  kept  company  only 
with  people  of  distinction.  Yes,  Miss  Li^'y, 
your  poor  father  and  I  have  suffered  very  much 
of  late  ;  but  I  hope  Heaven  will  forgive  you." 
During  this  reception  the  unhappy  victim  stood 


xrbe  \Dicar  ot  Wal^efielD  207 

pale  and  trembling,  unable  to  weep  or  to  reply ; 
but  I  could  not  continue  a  silent  spectator  of  her 
distress  ;  wherefore  assuming  a  degree  of  sever- 
ity in  my  voice  and  manner,  which  was  ever  fol- 
lowed with  instant  submission  :  "I  entreat,  wo- 
man, that  my  words  may  be  now  marked  once 
for  all ;  I  have  here  brought  you  back  a  poor  de- 
luded wanderer ;  her  return  to  duty  demands  the 
revival  of  our  tenderness.  The  real  hardships 
of  life  are  now  coming  fast  upon  us  ;  let  us  not, 
therefore,  increase  them  by  dissension  among 
each  other.  If  we  live  harmoniously  together, 
we  may  yet  be  contented,  as  there  are  enough 
of  us  to  shut  out  the  censuring  world  and  keep 
each  other  in  countenance.  The  kindness  of 
Heaven  is  promised  to  the  penitent,  and  let  ours 
be  directed  by  the  example.  Heaven,  we  are  as- 
sured, is  much  more  pleased  to  view  a  repentant 
sinner,  than  ninety-nine  persons  who  have  sup- 
ported a  course  of  undeviating  rectitude.  And 
this  is  right ;  for  that  single  effort  by  which  we 
stop  short  in  the  downhill  path  to  perdition,  is 
itself  a  greater  exertion  of  virtue  than  a  hun- 
dred acts  of  justice." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

None  but  the  Guilty  can  be  Long  and  Completely  Mis- 
erable. 


SOME  assiduity  was  now  required  to  make 
our  present  abode  as  convenient  as  possi- 
ble, and  we  were  soon  again  qualified  to  enjoy 
otur  former  serenity.  Being  disabled  myself 
from  assisting  my  son  in  our  usual  occupations, 
I  read  to  my  family  from  the  few  books  that 
were  saved,  and  particularly  from  such  as,  by 
amusing  the  imagination,  contributed  to  ease 
the  heart.  Our  good  neighbors,  too,  came 
every  day  with  the  kindest  condolence,  and 
fixed  a  time  in  which  they  were  all  to  assist  at 
repairing  my  former  dwelling.  Honest  farmer 
Williams  was  not  last  among  these  visitors  : 
but  heartily  offered  his  friendship.  He  would 
even  have  renewed  his  addresses  to  my  daugh- 
ter ;  but  she  rejected  them  in  such  a  manner  as 
totally  repressed  his  future  solicitations.  Her 
grief  seemed  formed  for  continuing,  and  she 
was  the  only  person  of  our  little  society  that  a 
week  did  not  restore  to  cheerfulness.     She  now 


trbe  lt)icar  ot  makefielD  209 

lost  that  unblushing  innocence  which  ouce 
taught  her  to  respect  herself,  and  to  seek  pleas- 
ure by  pleasing.  Anxiety  now  had  taken  strong 
possession  of  her  mind,  her  beauty  began  to  be 
impaired  with  her  constitution,  and  neglect 
still  more  contributed  to  diminish  it.  Bvery 
tender  epithet  bestowed  on  her  sister  brought 
a  pang  to  her  heart  and  a  tear  to  her  eye  ;  and 
as  one  vice,  though  cured,  ever  plants  others 
where  it  has  been,  so  her  former  guilt,  though 
driven  out  by  repentance,  left  jealousy  and  envy 
behind.  I  strove  a  thousand  ways  to  lessen  her 
care,  and  even  forgot  my  own  pain  in  a  concern 
for  hers,  collecting  such  amusing  passages  of 
history  as  a  strong  memory  and  some  reading 
could  suggest.  "Our  happiness,  my  dear,"  I 
would  say,  "is  in  the  power  of  One  who  can 
bring  it  about  a  thousand  unforeseen  ways  that 
mock  our  foresight.  If  example  be  necessary 
to  prove  this,  I  '11  give  you  a  story,  my  child, 
told  us  by  a  grave,  though  sometimes  a  roman- 
cing, historian. 

"  Matilda  was  married  to  a  very  young  Nea- 
politan nobleman  of  the  first  quality,  and  found 
herself  a  widow  and  a  mother  at  the  age  of  fif- 
teen. As  she  stood  one  day  caressing  her 
infant  son  in  the  open  window  of  an  apartment, 
which  hung  over  the  river  Volturna,  the  child 
with  a  sudden  spring  leaped  from  tier  arms  into 


^be  Dtcar  of  miaUficltf 


the  flood  below,  and  disappeared  in  a  moment. 
The  mother,  struck  with  instant  surprise,  and 
making  an  effort  to  save  him,  plunged  in  after  ; 
but  far  from  being  able  to  assist  the  infant,  she 
herself  with  great  difficulty  escaped  to  the  op- 
posite shore,  just  when  some  French  soldiers 
were  plundering  the  country  on  that  side,  ■vfho 
immediately  made  her  their  prisoner. 

"  As  the  war  was  then  carried  on  between  the 
French  and  Italians  with  the  utmost  inhuman- 
ity, they  were  going  at  once  to  perpetrate  those 
two  extremes  suggested  by  appetite  and  cruelty. 
This  base  resolution,  however,  was  opposed  by 
a  young  officer,  who,  though  their  retreat  re- 
quired the  utmost  expedition,  placed  her  behind 
him  and  brought  her  in  safety  to  his  native  city. 
Her  beauty  at  first  caught  his  eye,  her  merit 
soon  after  his  heart.  They  were  married  ;  he 
rose  to  the  highest  posts  ;  they  lived  long  to- 
gether and  were  happy.  But  the  felicity  of  a 
soldier  can  never  be  called  permanent ;  after 
an  interval  of  several  years,  the  troops  which 
he  commanded  having  met  with  a  repulse,  he 
was  obliged  to  take  shelter  in  the  city  where  he 
had  lived  with  his  wife.  Here  they  suffered  a 
siege,  and  the  city  at  length  was  taken.  Few 
histories  can  produce  more  various  instances  of 
cruelty  than  those  which  the  French  and  Ital- 
ians at  that  time  exercised  upon  each  other. 


Zbc  IDicar  of  maftefielD 


It  was  resolved  by  the  victors  upon  this  occasion 
to  put  all  the  French  prisoners  to  death,  but 
particularly  the  husband  of  the  unfortunate 
Matilda,  as  he  was  principally  instrumental  in 
protracting  the  siege.  Their  determinations 
were  in  general  executed  almost  as  soon  as  re- 
solved upon.  The  captive  soldier  was  led  forth, 
and  the  executioner  with  his  sword  stood  ready, 
while  the  spectators  in  gloomy  silence  awaited 
the  fatal  blow,  which  was  only  suspended  till 
the  general,  who  presided  as  judge,  should  give 
the  signal.  It  was  in  this  interval  of  anguish 
and  expectation  that  Matilda  came  to  take  her 
last  farewell  of  her  husband  and  deliverer,  de- 
ploring her  wretched  situation  and  the  cruelty 
of  fate  that  had  saved  her  from  perishing  by  a 
premature  death  in  the  river  Volturna,  to  be 
the  spectator  of  still  greater  calamities.  The 
general,  who  was  a  young  man,  was  struck  with 
surprise  at  her  beauty,  and  pity  at  her  distress  ; 
but  with  still  stronger  emotions  when  he  heard 
her  mention  her  former  dangers.  He  was  her 
son,  the  infant  for  whom  she  had  encountered 
so  much  danger.  He  acknowledged  her  at 
once  as  his  mother,  and  fell  at  her  feet.  The 
rest  may  be  easily  supposed  ;  the  captive  was 
set  free,  and  all  the  happiness  that  love,  friend- 
ship, and  duty  could  confer  on  earth  were 
united." 


^be  Dicar  ot  'maakefielD 


In  this  manner  I  would  attempt  to  amuse  my 
daughter  ;  but  she  listened  with  divided  atten- 
tion, for  her  own  misfortunes  engrossed  all  the 
pity  she  once  had  for  those  of  another,  and 
nothing  gave  her  ease.  In  company  she  dread- 
ed contempt,  and  in  solitude  she  only  found 
anxiety.  Such  was  the  color  of  her  wretched- 
ness, when  we  received  certain  information  that 
Mr.  Thomhill  was  going  to  be  married  to  Miss 
Wilmot,  for  whom  I  always  suspected  he  had  a 
real  passion,  though  he  took  everv^  opportunity 
before  me  to  express  his  contempt  both  of  her 
person  and  fortune.  This  news  only  sersxd  to 
increase  poor  Olivia's  affliction  ;  such  a  flagrant 
breach  of  fidelity  was  more  than  her  courage 
could  support.  I  was  resolved,  however,  to  get 
more  certain  information,  and  to  defeat,  if  pos- 
sible, the  completion  of  his  designs,  by  sending 
my  son  to  old  Mr.  Wilmot's  with  instructions 
to  know  the  truth  of  the  report,  and  to  deliver 
Miss  Wilmot  a  letter  intimating  Mr.  Thornhill's 
conduct  in  my  family.  My  son  went  in  pursu- 
ance of  my  directions,  and  in  three  days  re- 
turned, assuring  us  of  the  truth  of  the  account ; 
but  that  he  had  found  it  impossible  to  deliver 
the  letter,  which  he  was  therefore  obliged  to 
leave,  as  Mr.  Thomhill  and  Miss  Wilmot  were 
visiting  round  the  countiy\  They  were  to  be 
married,  he  said,  in  a  few  days,  ha\'ing  appeared 


Ebe  IDicar  of  Timafteftel^ 


together  at  church  the  Sunday  before  he  wan 
there,  in  great  splendor,  the  bride  attended  by 
six  young  ladies,  and  he  by  as  many  gentlemen. 
Their  approaching  nuptials  filled  the  whole 
country  with  rejoicing,  and  they  usually  rode 
out  together  in  the  grandest  equipage  that  had 


OLIVIA'S   MISERY. 


been  seen  in  the  country  for  many  years.  All 
the  friends  of  both  families,  he  said,  were 
there,  particularly  the  'Squire's  uncle.  Sir  Will- 
iam Thomhill,  who  bore  so  good  a  character. 
He  added  that  nothing  but  mirth  and  feasting 
were    going    forward ;     that    all    the    country 


214  XLbc  Dicar  of  MahefielO 

praised  the  young  bride's  beauty  and  the  bride- 
groom's fine  person,  and  that  they  were  im- 
mensely fond  of  each  other  ;  concluding  that 
he  could  not  help  thinking  Mr.  Thornhill  one 
of  the  most  happy  men  in  the  world. 

"Why,  let  him  if  he  can,"  returned  I  ;  "but, 
my  son,  observe  this  bed  of  straw  and  unshelter- 
ing  roof;  those  mouldering  walls  and  humid 
floor ;  my  wretched  body  thus  disabled  by  fire, 
and  my  children  weeping  round  me  for  bread. 
You  have  come  home,  my  child,  to  all  this  ; 
yet  here,  even  here,  you  see  a  man  that  would 
not  for  a  thousand  worlds  exchange  situations. 

0  my  children,  if  you  could  but  learn  to  com- 
mune with  your  own  hearts,  and  know  what 
noble  company  you  can  make  them,  you  would 
little  regard  the  elegance  and  splendor  of  the 
worthless.  Almost  all  men  have  been  taught 
to  call  life  a  passage,  and  themselves  the  travel- 
lers. The  similitude  still  may  be  improved, 
when  we  observe  that  the  good  are  joyful  and 
serene,  like  travellers  that  are  going  towards 
home  ;  the  wicked  but  by  intervals  happy,  like 
travellers  that  are  going  into  exile." 

M}'  compassion  for  my  poor  daughter,  over- 
powered by  this  new  disaster,  interrupted  what 

1  had  further  to  observe.  I  bade  her  mother 
support  her,  and  after  a  short  time  she  recovered. 
She  appeared  from  that  time  more  calm,  and,  I 


XLbc  IDfcar  ot  makefielC)  215 


imagined,  had  gained  a  new  degree  of  resolu- 
tion :  but  appearances  deceived  me ;  for  her 
tranquillity  was  the  languor  of  overwrought  re- 
sentment. A  supply  of  provisions  charitably 
sent  us  by  my  kind  parishioners,  seemed  to  dif- 
fuse new  cheerfulness  among  the  rest  of  the 
family  ;  nor  was  I  displeased  at  seeing  them 
once  more  sprightly  and  at  ease.  It  would 
have  been  unjust  to  damp  their  satisfactions, 
merely  to  condole  with  resolute  melancholy,  or 
to  burden  them  with  a  sadness  they  did  not 
feel.  Thus  once  more  the  tale  went  round,  and 
the  song  was  demanded,  and  cheerfulness  con- 
descended to  hover  round  our  little  habitation. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


Fresh  Calamities. 


THE  next  morning  the  sun  arose  with  pe- 
culiar warmth  for  the  season  ;  so  that  we 
agreed  to  breakfast  together  on  the  honey- 
suckle bank  :  where,  while  we  sat,  my  youngest 
daughter,  at  my  request,  joined  her  voice  to 
the  concert  on  the  trees  about  us.  It  was  in 
this  place  my  poor  Olivia  first  met  her  seducer, 
and  ever)'  object  served  to  recall  her  sadness. 
But  that  melancholy  which  is  excited  by  objects 
of  pleasure,  or  inspired  by  sounds  of  harmony, 
soothes  the  heart  instead  of  corroding  it.  Her 
mother,  too,  upon  this  occasion  felt  a  pleasing 
distress,  and  wept,  and  loved  her  daughter  as 
before.  ' '  Do,  my  prett}^  Olivia, ' '  cried  she, 
"  let  us  have  that  little  melancholy  air  your 
papa  was  so  fond  of ;  your  sister  Sophy  has  al- 
ready obliged  us.  Do,  child ;  it  will  please 
your  old  father."  She  complied  in  a  manner 
so  exquisitely  pathetic  as  moved  me. 


Zbc  Dicar  of  Maf^efielD  217 

When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly, 

And  finds  too  late  that  men  betray, 
What  charm  can  soothe  her  melancholy  ? 

What  art  can  wash  her  guilt  away  ? 
The  only  art  her  guilt  to  cover, 

To  hide  her  shame  from  every  eye, 
To  give  repentance  to  her  lover, 

And  wring  his  bosom,  is— to  die. 

As  she  was  concluding  the  last  stanza,  to 
which  an  interruption  in  her  voice  from  sorrow 
gave  peculiar  softness,  the  appearance  of  Mr, 
Thornhill's  equipage  at  a  distance  alarmed  us 
all,  but  particularly  increased  the  uneasiness  of 
my  eldest  daughter,  who,  desirous  of  shunning 
her  betrayer,  returned  to  the  house  with  her 
sister.  In  a  few  minutes  he  was  alighted  from 
his  chariot,  and  making  up  to  the  place  where 
I  was  still  sitting,  inquired  after  my  health  with 
his  usual  air  of  familiarity.  "Sir,"  replied  I, 
"  your  present  assurance  only  serves  to  aggravate 
the  baseness  of  your  character  ;  and  there  was 
a  time  when  I  would  have  chastised  your  inso- 
lence for  presuming  thus  to  appear  before  me. 
But  now  you  are  safe  ;  for  age  has  cooled  my 
passions,  and  my  calling  restrains  them." 

"I  vow,  my  dear  sir,"  returned  he,  "1 
am  amazed  at  all  this  ;  nor  can  I  understand 
what  it  means :  I  hope  you  don't  think  your 
daughter's  late  excursion  with  me  had  any  thing 
criminal  in  it." 


2i8  Zbc  Dicar  of  'CCla^efieI^ 

"Go,"  cried  I,  "thou  art  a  wretch,  a  poor, 
pitiful  wretch,  and  every  way  a  liar  ;  but  your 
meanness  secures  you  from  my  anger.  Yet,  sir, 
I  am  descended  from  a  family  that  would  not 
have  borne  this  !  And  so,  thou  vile  thing  !  to 
gratify  a  momentarj^  passion,  thou  hast  made 
one  poor  creature  wretched  for  life,  and  polluted 
a  family  that  had  nothing  but  honor  for  their 
portion," 

"If  she  or  you,"  returned  he,  "are  resolved 
to  be  miserable,  I  cannot  help  it.  But  you  may 
still  be  happy  ;  and  whatever  opinion  you  may 
have  formed  of  me,  you  shall  ever  find  me  ready 
to  contribute  to  it.  We  can  marry  her  to  an- 
other in  a  short  time,  and  what  is  more,  she 
may  keep  her  lover  beside  ;  for  I  protest  I  shall 
ever  continue  to  have  a  true  regard  for  her." 

I  found  all  my  passions  alarmed  at  this  new 
degrading  proposal  ;  for  although  the  mind  may 
often  be  calm  under  great  injuries,  little  ^al- 
lainy  can  at  any  time  get  within  the  soul  and 
sting  it  into  rage.  "  Avoid  my  sight,  thou  rep- 
tile," cried  I,  "nor  continue  to  insult  me  with 
thy  presence.  Were  my  brave  son  at  home 
he  would  not  suffer  this;  but  I  am  old  and 
disabled,  and  every  way  undone." 

"  I  find,"  cried  he,  "  j'ou  are  bent  upon  oblig- 
ing me  to  talk  in  a  harsher  manner  than  I  in- 
tended.    But  as  I  have  shown  you  what  may  be 


Zbc  IDicar  of  Tratakefiel^  219 

hoped  from  my  friendship,  it  may  not  be  im- 
proper to  represent  what  may  be  the  conse- 
quences of  my  resentment.  My  attorney,  to 
whom  your  late  bond  has  been  transferred, 
threatens  hard,  nor  do  I  know  how  to  prevent 
the  course  of  justice,  except  b}^  paying  the 
money  myself,  which,  as  I  have  been  at  some 
expenses  lately,  previous  to  my  intended  mar- 
riage, is  not  so  easy  to  be  done.  And  then  my 
steward  talks  of  driving  for  the  rent :  it  is  cer- 
tain he  knows  his  duty,  for  I  never  trouble  my- 
self with  affairs  of  that  nature.  Yet  still  I  could 
wish  to  serve  you,  and  even  to  have  you  and 
your  daughter  present  at  my  marriage,  which  is 
shortly  to  be  solemnized  with  Miss  Wilmot ;  it 
is  even  the  request  of  my  charming  Arabella 
herself,  whom  I  hope  you  wdll  not  refuse." 

"Mr.  Thornhill,"  replied  I,  "hear  me  once 
for  all :  as  to  j^our  marriage  with  any  but  my 
daughter,  that  I  never  will  consent  to ;  and 
though  your  friendship  could  raise  me  to  a 
throne,  or  your  resentment  sink  me  to  the  grave, 
yet  would  I  despise  both.  Thou  hast  once  wo- 
fully,  irreparably  deceived  me.  I  reposed  my 
heart  upon  thine  honor,  and  have  found  its  base- 
ness. Never  more,  therefore,  expect  friendship 
from  me.  Go,  and  possess  what  fortune  has 
given  thee — beauty,  riches,  health,  and  pleasure. 
Go,  and  leave  me  to  want,  infamy,  disease,  and 


Zbc  IDicar  of  *MaF?efiel& 


sorrow.  Yet,  humbled  as  I  am,  shall  my  heart 
still  vindicate  its  dignity,  and  though  thou 
hast  my  forgiveness,  thou  shalt  ever  have  my 
contempt. ' ' 

"If  so,"  returned  he,  "depend  upon  it  you 
shall  feel  the  effects  of  this  insolence,  and  we 
shall  shortly  see  which  is  the  fittest  object  of 
scorn,  you  or  me."  Upon  which  he  departed 
abruptly. 

My  wife  and  son,  who  were  present  at  this 
interview,  seemed  terrified  with  apprehension. 
My  daughters  also,  finding  that  he  was  gone, 
came  out  to  be  informed  of  the  result  of  our 
conference,  which,  when  known,  alarmed  them 
not  less  than  the  rest.  But  as  to  myself,  I  dis- 
regarded the  utmost  stretch  of  his  malevolence  : 
he  had  already  struck  the  blow,  and  now  I  stood 
prepared  to  repel  every  new  effort ;  like  one 
of  those  instruments  used  in  the  art  of  war 
which,  however  thrown,  still  presents  a  point  to 
receive  the  enemy. 

We  soon,  however,  found  that  he  had  not 
threatened  in  vain  ;  for  the  very  next  morning 
his  steward  came  to  demand  my  annual  rent, 
which,  by  the  train  of  accidents  already  related, 
I  was  unable  to  pay.  The  consequence  of  my 
incapacity  was  his  dri\ang  my  cattle  that  even- 
ing, and  their  being  appraised  and  sold  the 
next  day  for  less  than   half  their  value.     My 


Zhc  IDicar  of  WaFiefiel^ 


221 


wife  and  children  now,  therefore,  entreated  me 
to  comply  upon  any  terms  rather  than  incur 
certain  destruction.  They  even  begged  of  me 
to  admit  his  visits  once  more,  and  used  all  their 
little   eloquence  to  paint  the  calamities  I  was 


^Iw'V^" 


/     .i- 


WJl^-" 


-aS>  t!L-^_.^.. 


THE  CATTLK  DRIV^EN  FOE.  THE  RENT 

going  to  endure  :  the  terrors  of  a  prison  in  so 
rigorous  a  season  as  the  present,  with,  the  dan- 
ger that  threatened  mj^  health  from  the  late 
accident  that  happened  b}^  the  fire.  But  I 
continued  inflexible. 

' '  Why,  my  treasures, ' '  cried  I,  ' '  why  will  you 


^be  IDicar  of  maliefielO 


thus  attempt  to  persuade  me  to  the  tiling  that  is 
not  right !  My  duty  has  taught  me  to  forgive 
him  ;  but  my  conscience  will  not  permit  me  to 
approve.  Would  you  have  me  applaud  to  the 
world  what  my  heart  must  internally  condemn  ? 
Would  3-0U  have  me  tamely  sit  down  and  flatter 
our  infamous  betrayer ;  and,  to  avoid  a  prison, 
continually  suffer  the  more  galling  bonds  of 
mental  confinement  ?  No,  never  !  If  we  are  to 
be  taken  from  this  abode,  only  let  us  hold  to 
the  right ;  and  wherever  we  are  thrown,  we  can 
still  retire  to  a  charming  apartment,  when  we 
can  look  round  our  own  hearts  with  intrepidity 
and  with  pleasure  !  " 

In  this  manner  we  spent  that  evening.  Early 
the  next  morning,  as  the  snow  had  fallen  in 
great  abundance  in  the  night,  my  son  was  em- 
ployed in  clearing  it  away,  and  opening  a  passage 
before  the  door.  He  had  not  been  thus  engaged 
long  when  he  came  running  in,  with  looks  all 
pale,  to  tell  us  that  two  strangers,  whom  he 
knew  to  be  officers  of  justice,  were  making 
towards  the  house. 

Just  as  he  spoke  they  came  in,  and  approach- 
ing the  bed  where  I  lay,  after  previously  in- 
forming me  of  their  employment  and  business, 
made  me  their  prisoner,  bidding  me  prepare 
to  go  with  them  to  the  county  gaol,  which  was 
eleven  miles  off. 


tTbe  IDicar  of  maftefielD  223 

"  My  friends,"  said  I,  "  this  is  severe  weather 
on  which  you  have  come  to  take  me  to  a  prison  ; 
and  it  is  particulariy  unfori;unate  at  this  time, 
as  one  of  my  arms  has  lately  been  biirned  in  a 
terrible  manner,  and  it  has  thrown  me  into  a 
slight  fever,  and  I  want  clothes  to  cover  me, 
and  I  am  now  too  weak  and  old  to  walk  far  in 
such  deep  snow  ;  but  if  it  must  be  so " 

I  then  turned  to  my  wife  and  children,  and 
directed  them  to  get  together  what  few  things 
were  left  us,  and  to  prepare  immediately  for 
leaving  this  place.  I  entreated  them  to  be 
expeditious,  and  desired  my  son  to  assist  his 
eldest  sister,  who,  from  a  consciousness  that  she 
was  the  cause  of  all  our  calamities,  w^as  fallen, 
and  had  lost  anguish  in  insensibility,  I  en- 
couraged my  wife,  who,  pale  and  trembling, 
clasped  our  affrighted  little  ones  in  her  arms, 
that  clung  to  her  bosom  in  silence,  dreading  to 
look  round  at  the  strangers.  In  the  meantime 
my  youngest  daughter  prepared  for  our  depart- 
ure, and  as  she  received  several  hints  to  use 
dispatch,  in  about  an  hour  we  were  ready  to 
depart. 


'^'^^— ^x^^^  -^ 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

No  Situation,   However  Wretched  It  Seems,  but  Has 
Some  Sort  of  Comfort  Attending  It. 


WE  set  forward  from  this  peaceful  neigh- 
borhood, and  walked  on  slowly.  My 
eldest  daughter  being  enfeebled  by  a  slow  fever, 
which  had  begun  for  some  days  to  undermine 
her  constitution,  one  of  the  officers,  who  had  a 
horse,  kindly  took  her  behind  him  ;  for  even 
these  men  cannot  entirely  divest  themselves  of 
humanit}-.  M}-  son  led  one  of  the  little  ones 
by  the  hand,  and  my  wife  the  other,  while  I 
leaned  upon  my  youngest  girl,  whose  tears  fell 
not  for  her  own  but  m}^  distresses. 

We  were  now  got  from  my  late  dwelling 
about  two  miles,  when  we  saw  a  crowd  running 
and  shouting  behind  us,  consisting  of  about 
fifty  of  my  poorest  parishioners.  These,  with 
dreadful  imprecations,  soon  seized  upon  the 
two  officers  of  justice,  and  swearing  that  they 
would  never  see  their  minister  go  to  gaol  while 


^be  Dicar  of  "MaftefielD 


225 


they  had  a  drop  of  blood  to  shed  in  his  defence, 
were  going  to  use  them  with  great  severity. 
The  consequence  might  have  been  fatal,  had  I 


"'■:y^. 


ATTEMPT  TO  RESCUE. 


not  iumjediately  interposed,  and  with  some 
difficulty  rescued  the  officers  from  the  hands  of 
the    enraged    multitude.      My    children,    who 


226  Zbc  IDicar  of  Maketielt) 

looked  upon  my  delivery  now  as  certain,  ap- 
peared transported  with  joy,  and  were  incapable 
of  containing  their  raptures.  But  they  were 
soon  undeceived,  upon  hearing  me  address  the 
poor  deluded  people,  who  came,  as  they  im- 
agined, to  do  me  service. 

"What!  my  fiiends,"  cried  I,  "and  is  this 
the  way  you  lo\  e  me  !  Is  this  the  manner  you 
obey  the  instructions  I  have  given  you  from  the 
pulpit  !  Thus  to  fly  in  the  face  of  justice,  and 
bring  down  ruin  on  yourselves  and  me  !  Which 
is  your  ringleader?  Show  me  the  man  that 
has  thus  seduced  you.  As  sure  as  he  lives  he 
shall  feel  my  resentment.  Alas !  my  dear  de- 
luded flock,  return  back  to  the  duty  you  owe 
to  God,  to  your  country,  and  to  me.  I  shall  yet, 
perhaps,  one  day  see  you  in  greater  felicity 
here,  and  contribute  to  make  your  lives  more 
happy.  But  let  it  at  least  be  my  comfort  when 
I  pen  my  fold  for  immortality,  that  not  one 
here  shall  be  wanting." 

They  now  seemed  all  repentance,  and,  melt- 
ing into  tears,  came  one  after  the  other  to  bid 
me  farewell.  I  shook  each  tenderl}'  by  the 
hand,  and  leaving  them  my  blessing,  proceeded 
forward  without  meeting  any  further  interrup- 
tion. Some  hours  before  night  we  reached  the 
town,  or  rather  village  ;  for  it  consisted  but  of  a 
few  mean  houses,  having  lost  all  its  former  opu- 


^be  Dfcar  of  limakefielt)  227 

lence,  and  retaining  no  marks  of  its  ancient 
superiority  but  the  gaol. 

Upon  entering  we  put  up  at  the  inn,  where 
we  had  such  refreshments  as  could  most  readily 
be  procured,  and  I  supped  with  my  family  with 
my  usual  cheerfulness.  After  seeing  them  prop- 
erly accommodated  for  that  night,  I  next  at- 
tended the  sheriff's  officers  to  the  prison,  which 
had  formerly  been  built  for  the  purposes  of  war, 
and  consisted  of  one  large  apartment  strongly 
grated  and  paved  with  stone,  common  to  both 
felons  and  debtors  at  certain  hours  in  the  four- 
and-twenty.  Besides  this,  every  prisoner  had  a 
separate  cell,  where  he  was  locked  in  for  the 
night. 

I  expected  upon  my  entrance  to  find  nothing 
but  lamentations  and  various  sounds  of  misery ; 
but  it  was  verj^  different.  The  prisoners  seemed 
all  employed  in  one  common  design,  that  of 
forgetting  thought  in  merriment  or  clamor.  I 
was  apprised  of  the  usual  perquisite  required 
upon  these  occasions,  and  immediately  com- 
plied with  the  demand,  though  the  little  money 
I  had  was  very  nearly  being  all  exhausted. 
This  was  immediately  sent  away  for  liquor,  and 
the  whole  prison  soon  was  filled  with  riot, 
laughter,  and  profaneness. 

"How,"  cried  I  to  myself,  "shall  men  so 
very  wicked  be  cheerful,  and  shall  I  be  melan- 


228  Cbc  Dicar  ot  Waf^efiel^ 

choly  !  I  feel  only  the  same  confinement  with 
them,  and  I  think  I  have  more  reason  to  be 
happy. ' ' 

With  such  reflections  I  labored  to  become 
cheerful ;  but  cheerfulness  was  never  yet  pro- 
duced by  effort,  which  is  itself  painful.  As  I 
was  sitting  therefore  in  the  corner  of  the  gaol 
in  a  pensive  posture,  one  of  my  fellow-prisoners 
came  up,  and  sitting  by  me  entered  into  conver- 
sation. It  was  my  constant  nile  in  life  never 
to  avoid  the  conversation  of  any  man  who 
seemed  to  desire  it :  for  if  good,  I  might  profit 
by  his  instruction  ;  if  bad,  he  might  be  assisted 
by  mine.  I  found  this  to  be  a  knowing  man, 
of  strong  unlettered  sense,  but  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  world  as  it  is  called,  or,  more 
properly  speaking,  of  human  nature  on  the 
wrong  side.  He  asked  me  if  I  had  taken  care  to 
provide  myself  with  a  bed,  which  was  a  circum- 
stance I  had  never  once  attended  to. 

"  That  's  unfortunate,"  cried  he,  "  as  you  are 
allowed  here  nothing  but  straw,  and  your  apart- 
ment is  verj^  large  and  cold.  However,  you 
seem  to  be  something  of  a  gentleman,  and  as  I 
have  been  one  m^^self  in  my  time,  part  of  my 
bedclothes  are  heartily  at  your  service. ' ' 

I  thanked  him,  expressing  my  smrprise  at  find- 
ing such  humanity  in  a  gaol  in  misfortunes; 
adding,  to   let  him  see  that  I  was  a  scholar. 


XLbc  Dfcar  of  WaftefielD 


229 


"that  the  sage  ancient  seemed  to  understand 
the  value  of  company  in  affliction,  when  he 
said,  rov  xod/ior  cxi'pe,  ei   dc^'s  tov  kraipov; 


THE    VICAR   PAYING  HIS  FOOTING. 

and  in  fact,"  continued  I,  "what  is  the  world 
if  it  affords  only  solitude  ? ' ' 

"You  talk  of  the  world,  sir,"  returned  my 
fellow-prisoner,  "the  world  is  in  its  dotage; 


230  Zbc  Dicar  of  makefielD 

and  yet  the  cosmogony  or  creation  of  the  world 
has  puzzled  the  philosophers  of  every  age. 
What  a  medley  of  opinions  have  they  not 
broached  upon  the  creation  of  the  world  !  San- 
choniathon,  Manetho,  Berosus,  and  Ocellus 
Lucanus  have  all  attempted  it  in  vain.  The 
latter  has    these  words  :  "Arapxov    dpd    uai 

dreXsvraiov  to  Trar^  which  impl}" "     "I 

ask  pardon,  sir,"  cried  I,  "for  interrupting  so 
much  learning  ;  but  I  think  I  have  heard  all 
this  before.  Have  I  not  had  the  pleasure  of 
once  seeing  you  at  Welbridge  fair,  and  is  not 
your  name  Ephraim  Jenkinson  ?  "  At  this  de- 
mand he  only  sighed.  "I  suppose  you  must 
recollect,"  resumed  I,  "  one  Dr.  Primrose,  from 
whom  5'ou  bought  a  horse  ?  ' ' 

He  now  at  once  recollected  me  ;  for  the  gloom- 
iness of  the  place  and  the  approaching  night 
had  prevented  his  distinguishing  my  features 
before.  "Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mr,  Jenkinson, 
' '  I  remember  you  perfectly  well ;  I  bought  a 
horse,  but  forgot  to  pay  for  him.  Your  neigh- 
bor Flamborough  is  the  only  prosecutor  I  am 
any  way  afraid  of  at  the  next  assizes  ;  for  he 
intends  to  swear  positively  against  me  as  a 
coiner.  I  am  heartily  sorry,  sir,  I  ever  deceived 
you,  or  indeed  any  man;  for  you  see,"  con- 
tinued he,  showing  his  shackles,  "what  my 
tricks  have  brought  me  to," 


Zbc  tDicar  of  'aflaftetiel&  231 


"Well,  sir,"  replied  I,  "your  kindness  in 
offering  me  assistance  when  you  could  expect 
no  return,  shall  be  repaid  with  my  endeavors 
to  soften  or  totally  suppress  Mr.  Flamborough's 
evidence,  and  I  will  send  my  son  to  him  for 
that  purpose  the  first  opportunity  ;  nor  do  I  in 
the  least  doubt  but  he  will  comply  with  my 
request,  and  as  to  my  own  evidence,  you  need 
be  under  no  uneasiness  about  that." 

"Well,  sir,"  cried  he,  "all  the  return  I  can 
make  shall  be  yours.  You  shall  have  more 
than  half  my  bedclothes  to-night,  and  I  '11  take 
care  to  stand  your  friend  in  the  prison,  where  I 
think  I  have  some  influence." 

I  thanked  him,  and  could  not  avoid  being 
surprised  at  the  present  youthful  change  in  his 
aspect ;  for  at  the  time  I  had  seen  him  before, 
he  appeared  at  least  sixty.  "Sir,"  answered 
he,  ' '  you  are  little  acquainted  with  the  world ; 
I  had  at  that  time  false  hair,  and  have  learnt 
the  art  of  counterfeiting  every  age  from  seven- 
teen to  seventy.  Ah  !  sir,  had  I  but  bestowed 
half  the  pains  in  learning  a  trade  that  I  have  in 
learning  to  be  a  scoundrel,  I  might  have  been 
a  rich  man  at  this  day.  But  rogue  as  I  am,  still 
I  may  be  your  friend,  and  that,  perhaps,  when 
you  least  expect  it." 

We  were  now  prevented  from  further  conver- 
sation by  the  arrival  of  the  gaoler's  servants, 


232  trbe  IDicar  of  'm^\\cfiM 


who  came  to  call  over  the  prisoners'  names, 
amd  lock  up  for  the  night.  A  fellov/  also  with  a 
bundle  of  straw  for  my  bed  attended,  who  led 
me  along  a  dark  narrow  passage  into  a  room 
paved  like  the  common  prison,  and  in  one  cor- 
ner of  this  I  spread  my  bed,  and  the  clothes 
given  me  by  my  fellow-prisoner  ;  which  done, 
my  conductor,  who  was  civil  enough,  bade  me  a 
good  night.  After  my  usual  meditations,  and 
having  praised  my  Heavenly  Corrector,  I  laid 
myself  down,  and  slept  with  the  utmost  tran- 
quillity till  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  Reformation  in  the  Gaol— To  Make  Laws  Complete 
They  should  Reward  as  well  as  Punish. 

THE  next  morning  earh^  I  was  awakened  by 
my  family,  whom  I  found  in  tears  at  my 
bedside.  The  gloomy  strength  of  every  thing 
about  us,  it  seems,  had  daunted  them.  I  gen- 
tly rebuked  their  sorrow,  assuring  them  I  had 
never  slept  with  greater  tranquillity,  and  next 
inquired  after  my  eldest  daughter,  who  was  not 
among  them.  They  informed  me  that  yes- 
terday's uneasiness  and  fatigue  had  increased 
her  fever,  and  it  was  judged  proper  to  leave  her 
behind.  My  next  care  was  to  send  my  son  to 
procure  a  room  or  two  for  to  lodge  the  family 
in,  as  near  the  prison  as  conveniently  could  be 
found.  He  obeyed  ;  but  could  find  only  one 
apartment,  which  was  hired  at  a  small  expense 
for  his  mother  and  sisters,  the  gaoler,  with 
humanity,  consenting  to  let  him  and  his  two 
little  brothers  lie  in  the  prison  with  me.  A  bed 
was  therefore  prepared  for  them  in  a  comer  of 
the  room,  which  I  thought  answered  very  con- 


234  trbe  IDicar  of  'CQafteffelD 

veniently.  I  was  willing,  however,  previously 
to  know  whether  my  little  children  chose  to 
lie  in  a  place  which  seemed  to  fright  them 
upon  entrance. 

"  Well,"  cried  I,  "  my  good  boys,  how  do  you 
like  your  new  bed  ?  I  hope  you  are  not  afraid 
to  lie  in  this  room,  dark  as  it  appears  ?  " 

"  No,  papa,"  says  Dick,  "I  am  not  afraid  to 
lie  anywhere  where  you  are  " 

"And  I,"  says  Bill,  who  was  yet  but  four 
years  old,  "love  every  place  best  that  my  papa 
is  in." 

After  this,  I  allotted  to  each  of  the  family 
what  they  were  to  do.  ]\Iy  daughter  was  par- 
ticularly directed  to  watch  her  declining  sister's 
health  ;  my  wife  was  to  attend  me ;  m}'  little 
boys  were  to  read  to  me  :  "  And  as  for  you,  my 
son,"  continued  I,  "it  is  by  the  labor  of  your 
hands  we  must  all  hope  to  be  supported.  Your 
wages  as  a  day-laborer  will  be  fully  sufficient, 
with  proper  frugality,  to  maintain  us  all,  and 
comfortably  too.  Thou  art  now  sixteen  years 
old,  and  hast  strength,  and  it  was  given  thee, 
my  son,  for  very  useful  purposes;  for  it  must 
save  from  famine  your  helpless  parents  and 
family.  Prepare,  then,  this  evening  to  look 
out  for  work  against  to-morrow,  and  bring 
home  every  night  what  money  you  earn,  for 
our  support. 


Zbc  Dicar  of  Mahefielt)  235 

Having  thus  instructed  him,  and  settled  the 
rest,  I  walked  down  to  the  common  prison, 
where  I  could  enjoy  more  air  and  room.  But  I 
was  not  long  there,  when  the  execrations,  lewd- 
ness, and  brutality  that  invaded  me.  on  every 
side  drove  me  back  to  my  apartment  again. 
Here  I  sat  for  some  time,  pondering  upon  the 
strange  infatuation  of  wretches,  who,  finding  all 
mankind  in  open  arms  against  them,  were  la- 
boring to  make  themselves  a  future  and  a  tre- 
mendous enemy. 

Their  insensibility  excited  my  highest  com- 
passion, and  blotted  my  own  uneasiness  from 
my  mind.  It  even  appeared  a  duty  incumbent 
upon  me  to  attempt  to  'reclaim  them,  I  re- 
solved, therefore,  once  more  to  return,  and,  in 
spite  of  their  contempt,  to  give  them  my  advice, 
and  conquer  them  by  perseverance.  Going, 
therefore,  among  them  again,  I  informed  Mr. 
Jeukinson  of  my  design,  at  which  he  laughed 
heartily,  but  communicated  it  to  the  rest.  The 
proposal  was  received  with  the  greatest  good- 
humor,  as  it  promised  to  afford  a  new  fund  of 
entertainment  to  persons  w^ho  had  now  no  other 
resoiirce  for  mirth  but  what  could  be  derived 
from  ridicule  or  debauchery. 

I  therefore  read  them  a  portion  of  the  service 
with  a  loud,  unaffected  voice,  and  found  my 
audience  perfectly  merry   upon   the   occasion. 


236  XLbc  tDicar  ot  •Qmakefielt) 


lycwd  whispers,  groans  of  contrition  burlesqued, 
winking  and  coughing,  alternately  excited 
laughter.  However,  I  continued  with  my  nat- 
ural solemnity  to  read  on,  sensible  that  what  I 
did  might  mend  some,  but  could  itself  receive 
no  contamination  from  any. 

After  reading,  I  entered  upon  my  exhortation, 
which  was  rather  calculated  at  first  to  amuse 
them  than  to  reprove.  I  previously  observed, 
that  no  other  motive  but  their  welfare  could  in- 
duce me  to  this  ;  that  I  was  their  fellow-prisoner, 
and  now  got  nothing  by  preaching.  I  was  sorry, 
I  said,  to  hear  them  so  very  profane  ;  because 
they  got  nothing  by  it,  but  might  lose  a  great 
deal  :  "  Fcr  be  assured,  my  friends,"  cried  I, 
— "  for  you  are  my  friends,  however  the  world 
may  disclaim  your  friendship, — though  you 
swore  twelve  thousand  oaths  in  a  day,  it  would 
not  put  one  penny  in  your  purse.  Then  what 
signifies  calling  every  moment  upon  the  Devil 
and  courting  his  friendship,  since  j'ou  find  how 
scurvnly  he  uses  you.  He  has  given  you  noth' 
ing  here,  you  find,  but  a  mouthful  of  oaths  and 
an  empty  belly  ;  and  by  the  best  accounts  I 
have  of  him,  he  will  give  you  nothing  that  's 
good  hereafter. 

"  If  used  ill  in  our  dealings  with  one  man,  we 
naturally  go  elsewhere.  Were  it  not  worth  your 
while,  then,  just  to  try  how  you  may  like  the 


trbc  IDicar  of  maheffel^ 


237 


usage  of  another  Master,  who  gives  you  fair 
promises  at  least  to  come  to  Him.  Surely,  my 
friends,  of  all  stupidity  in  the  world,  his  must  be 
the  greatest  who,  after  robbing  a  house,  runs  to 
the  thief-takers  for  protection.  And  yet  how  are 
you  more  wise  ?     You  are  all  seeking  comfort 


THB  FIRST    EXHORTATION. 

from  one  that  has  alread}^  betrayed  you,  apply- 
ing to  a  more  malicious  being  than  any  thief- 
taker  of  them  all ;  for  they  only  decoy  and  then 
hang  you  ;  but  he  decoys  and  hangs,  and,  what 
is  worst  of  all,  will  not  let  you  loose  after  the 
hangman  has  done." 


238  ^be  Dicar  of  11llla??efiel& 

When  I  had  concluded,  I  received  the  compli- 
ments of  my  audience,  some  of  whom  came  and 
shook  me  by  the  hand,  swearing  that  I  was  a 
very  honest  fellow,  and  that  they  desired  my 
further  acquaintance.  I  therefore  promised  to 
repeat  my  lecture  next  day,  and  actually  con- 
ceived some  hopes  of  making  a  reformation 
here  ;  for  it  had  ever  been  my  opinion,  that  no 
man  was  past  the  hour  of  amendment,  every 
heart  hnng  open  to  the  shafts  of  reproof,  if  the 
archer  could  but  take  a  proper  aim.  When  I 
had  thus  satisfied  ni}-  mind,  I  went  back  to  my 
apartment,  where  my  wife  prepared  a  frugal 
meal,  while  Mr.  Jenkinson  begged  leave  to  add 
his  dinner  to  ours,  and  partake  of  the  pleasure, 
as  he  was  kind  enough  to  express  it,  of  my  con- 
versation. He  had  not  yet  seen  my  family  ;  for 
as  they  came  to  my  apartment  by  a  door  in  the 
narrow  passage  already  described,  by  this  means 
the}-  avoided  the  common  prison.  Jenkinson. 
at  the  first  interview,  therefore,  seemed  not  a 
little  struck  with  the  beaut}-  of  my  youngest 
daughter,  which  her  pensive  air  contributed  to 
heighten,  and  my  little  ones  did  not  pass  unno- 
ticed. 

"Alas!  doctor,"  cried  he,  "these  children 
are  too  handsome  and  too  good  for  such  a  place 
as  this  !  " 

"Why,   Mr.  Jenkinson,"   replied  I,    "thank 


^be  Dicar  of  MalftefielD  239 

Heaven  my  children  are  pretty  tolerable  in 
morals ;  and  if  they  be  good,  it  matters  little  for 
the  rest." 

"I  fancy,  sir,"  returned  my  fellow-prisoner, 
"that  it  must  give  you  great  comfort  to  have  all 
this  little  family  about  you," 

"A  comfort,  Mr.  Jenkinson,"  replied  I ;  "yes, 
it  is  indeed  a  comfort,  and  I  would  not  be  with- 
out them  for  all  the  world  ;  for  they  can  make 
a  dungeon  seem  a  palace.  There  is  but  one  way 
in  this  life  of  wounding  my  happiness,  and  that 
is  by  injuring  them," 

"  I  am  afraid  then,  sir,"  cried  he,  "that  I  am 
in  some  measure  culpable  ;  for  I  think  I  see 
here,"  looking  at  my  son  Moses,  "one  that  I 
have  injured,  and  by  whom  I  wish  to  be  for- 
given." 

My  son  immediately  recollected  his  voice  and 
features,  though  he  had  before  seen  him  in  dis- 
guise, and  taking  him  by  the  hand,  with  a 
smile  forgave  him.  "  Yet,"  continued  he,  "I 
can't  help  wondering  at  what  you  could  see  in 
my  face  to  think  me  a  proper  mark  for  decep- 
tion." 

* '  My  dear  sir, ' '  returned  the  other,  ' '  it  was 
not  your  face,  but  your  white  stockings  and  the 
black  riband  in  your  hair  that  allured  me.  But 
no  disparagement  to  your  parts,  I  have  deceived 
wiser  men  than  you  in  my  time  ;  and  yet,  with 


240  trbe  Dicar  of  makcfieli) 

all  my  tricks,  the  blockheads  have  been  too 
many  for  me  at  last." 

"I  suppose,"  cried  my  son,  "that  the  narra- 
tive of  such  a  life  as  yours  must  be  extremely 
instructive  and  amusing  ?  " 

"Not  much  of  either,"  returned  Mr.  Jenkin- 
son.  "Those  relations  which  describe  the 
tricks  and  vices  only  of  mankind,  by  increasing 
our  suspicion  in  life  retard  our  success.  The 
traveller  that  distrusts  every  person  that  he 
meets,  and  turns  back  upon  the  appearance  of 
every  man  that  looks  like  a  robber,  seldom  ar- 
rives in  time  at  his  journey's  end. 

"  Indeed,  I  think  from  my  own  experience, 
that  the  knowing  one  is  the  silliest  fellow  un- 
der the  sun.  I  was  thought  cunning  from  my 
very  childhood  ;  when  but  seven  years  old  the 
ladies  would  say  that  I  was  a  perfect  little  man ; 
at  fourteen  I  knew  the  world,  cocked  my  hat, 
and  loved  the  ladies ;  at  twenty,  though  I  was 
perfectly  honest,  yet  every  one  thought  me  so 
cunning  that  no  one  would  trust  me.  Thus  I 
was  at  last  obliged  to  turn  sharper  in  my  own 
defence,  and  have  lived  ever  since,  my  head 
throbbing  with  schemes  to  deceive,  and  my 
heart  palpitating  with  fears  of  detection.  I 
used  often  to  laugh  at  your  honest,  simple 
neighbor  Flamborough,  and  one  way  or  another 
generally  cheated  him  once  a-year.     Yet  still 


XLbc  tDicar  of  MaftcfielD  241 

the  honest  man  went  forward  without  suspi- 
cion, and  grew  rich,  while  I  still  continued 
tricksy  and  cunning,  and  was  poor,  without  the 
consolation  of  being  honest.  However,"  con- 
tinued he,  "let  me  know  your  case,  and  what 
has  brought  you  here  ;  perhaps,  though  I  have 
not  skill  to  avoid  a  gaol  myself,  I  may  extricate 
my  friends. ' ' 

In  compliance  with  this  curiosity,  I  informed 
him  of  the  whole  train  of  accidents  and  follies 
that  had  plunged  me  into  my  present  troubles, 
and  my  utter  inability  to  get  free. 

After  hearing  my  story  and  pausing  some 
minutes,  he  slapped  his  forehead,  as  if  he  had 
hit  upon  something  material,  and  took  his 
leave,  saying  he  would  try  what  could  be  done. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


The  Same  vSubject  Continued. 


THE  next  morning  I  communicated  to  my 
wife  and  children  the  scheme  I  had 
planned  of  reforming  the  prisoners,  which  they 
received  with  universal  disapprobation,  alle- 
ging the  impossibility  and  impropriety  of  it ; 
adding,  that  my  endeavors  would  no  way  con- 
tribute to  their  amendment,  but  might  probably 
disgrace  my  calling. 

* '  Excuse  me, ' '  returned  I, ' '  these  people,  how- 
ever fallen,  are  still  men,  and  that  is  a  very  good 
title  to  my  affections.  Good  counsel  rejected 
returns  to  enrich  the  giver's  bosom  ;  and  though 
the  instruction  I  communicate  may  not  mend 
them,  yet  it  will  assuredly  mend  myself.  If 
these  wretches,  my  children,  were  princes,  there 
would  be  thousands  ready  to  offer  their  minis- 
try ;  but  in  my  opinion  the  heart  that  is  buried 
in  a  dungeon  is  as  precious  as  that  seated  upon 
a  throne.     Yes,  my  treasures,   if  I  can  mend 


Zbc  IDicar  of  "Qmafeeficl^ 


243 


them  I  will ;  perhaps  they  will  not  all  despise 
me.  Perhaps  I  may  catch  up  even  one  from  the 
gulf,  and  that  will  be  great  gain  ;  for  is  there 
upon  earth  a  gem  so  precious  as  the  human 
soul  ? ' ' 

Thus  saying,  I  left  them  and  descended  to  the 


REFORMATION . 

common  prison,  where  I  found  the  prisoners 
very  merry,  expecting  my  arrival ;  and  each 
prepared  with  some  gaol  trick  to  play  upon  the 
doctor.  Thus,  as  I  was  going  to  begin,  one 
turned  my  wig  awry,  as  if  by  accident,  and  then 
asked  my  pardon.     A  second,  who  stood  at  some 


244  ^be  Dicar  of  Ma^cfielD 

distance,  had  a  knack  of  spitting  through  his 
teeth,  which  fell  in  showers  upon  my  book.  A 
third  would  cry  "amen"  in  such  an  affected 
tone  as  gave  the  rest  great  delight.  A  fourth 
had  slily  picked  my  pocket  of  my  spectacles. 
But  there  was  one  whose  trick  gave  more  uni- 
versal pleasure  than  all  the  rest ;  for,  observing 
the  manner  in  which  I  had  disposed  of  my  books 
on  the  table  before  me,  he  ver>'  dexterously  dis- 
placed one  of  them,  and  put  an  obscene  jest- 
book  of  his  own  in  the  place.  However,  I  took 
no  notice  of  all  that  this  mischievous  group  of 
little  beings  could  do,  but  went  on,  perfectly 
sensible  that  what  was  ridiculous  in  my  attempt 
would  excite  mirth  only  the  first  or  second 
time,  while  what  was  serious  would  be  perma- 
nent. My  design  succeeded,  and  in  less  than 
six  days  some  were  patient  and  all  attentive. 

*  It  was  now  that  I  applauded  my  perseverance 
and  address,  at  thus  giving  sensibility  to 
wretches  divested  of  every  moral  feeling,  and 
now  began  to  think  of  doing  them  temporal  ser- 
vices also,  by  rendering  their  situation  somewhat 
more  comfortable.  Their  time  had  hitherto 
been  divided  between  famine  and  excess,  tumul- 
tuous riot  and  bitter  repining.  Their  only  em- 
ployment was  quarrelling  among  each  other, 
playing  at  cribbage,  and  cutting  tobacco-stop- 
pers.    From  this  last  mode  of  idle  industrv'^  I 


trbe  Dicar  of  lldakeftclD  245 

took  the  hint  of  setting  such  as  chose  to  work  at 
cutting  pegs  for  tobacconists  and  shoemakers, 
the  proper  wood  being  bought  by  a  general  sub- 
scription, and  when  manufactured,  sold  by  lay 
appointment ;  so  that  each  earued  something 
every  day — a  trifle,  indeed,  but  sufficient  tc 
maintain  him.  I  did  not  stop  here,  but  insti- 
tuted lines  for  the  punishment  of  immorality', 
and  rewards  for  peculiar  industry.  Thus,  in 
less  than  a  fortnight,  I  had  formed  them  into 
something  social  and  humane,  and  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  regarding  myself  as  a  legislator,  who 
had  brought  men  from  their  native  ferocity  into 
friendship  and  obedience. 

And  it  were  highly  to  be  wished  that  the  legis- 
lative power  would  thus  direct  the  law  rather 
to  reformation  than  severity.  That  it  would 
seem  convinced  that  the  work  of  eradicating 
crimes  is  not  by  making  punishments  familiai:, 
but  formidable.  Then,  instead  of  our  present 
prisons,  which  find  or  make  men  guilty,  which 
enclose  wretches  for  the  commission  of  one 
crime,  and  return  them,  if  returned  alive,  fitted 
for  the  perpetration  of  thousands ;  we  should 
see,  as  in  other  parts  of  Europe,  places  of  peni- 
tence and  solitude,  where  the  accused  might  be 
attended  by  such  as  could  give  them  repentance 
if  guilty,  or  new  motives  to  virtue  if  innocent. 
And  this,  but  not  the  increasing  punishments, 


246  ^be  Dicar  of  mal^efielD 

is  the  way  to  mend  a  state  ;  nor  can  I  avoid  even 
questioning  the  validit}^  of  that  right  which 
social  combinations  have  assumed  of  capitally 
punishing  offences  of  a  slight  nature.  In  cases 
of  murder  their  right  is  obvious,  as  it  is  the  duty 
of  us  all,  from  the  law  of  self-defence,  to  cut  off 
that  man  who  has  shown  a  disregard  for  the  life 
of  another.  Against  such  all  nature  rises  in 
arms ;  but  it  is  not  so  against  him  who  steals  my 
property.  Natural  law  gives  me  no  right  to 
take  away  his  life,  as  by  that  the  horse  he  steals 
is  as  much  his  property  as  mine.  If,  then,  I 
have  any  right,  it  must  be  from  a  compact  made 
between  us,  that  he  who  deprives  the  other  of 
his  horse  shall  die.  But  this  is  a  false  compact, 
because  no  man  has  a  right  to  barter  his  life 
any  more  than  to  take  it  away,  as  it  is  not  his 
own.  And  beside,  the  compact  is  inadequate^ 
and  would  be  set  aside  even  in  a  court  of  mod- 
ern equity,  as  there  is  a  great  penalty  for  a  very 
trifling  convenience,  since  it  is  far  better  that 
two  men  should  live  than  that  one  man  should 
ride.  But  a  compact  that  is  false  between  two 
men  is  equally  so  between  a  hundred  or  a  hun- 
dred thousand  ;  for  as  ten  millions  of  circles 
can  never  make  a  square,  so  the  united  voice 
of  myriads  cannot  lend  the  smallest  foundation 
to  falsehood.  It  is  thus  that  reason  speaks, 
and   untutored   nature    says    the    same    thing. 


^be  IDicar  of  MaJiefielD  247 

Savages  that  are  directed  by  natural  law  alone 
are  very  tender  of  the  lives  of  each  other  ;  they 
seldom  shed  blood  but  to  retaliate  former 
cruelty. 

Our  Saxon  ancestors,  fierce  as  they  were  in 
war,  had  but  few  executions  in  times  of  peace  ; 
and  in  all  commencing  governments  that  have 
the  print  of  nature  still  strong  upon  them, 
scarcely  any  crime  is  held  capital. 

It  is  among  the  citizens  of  a  refined  commu- 
nity that  penal  laws,  which  are  in  the  hands  of 
the  rich,  are  laid  upon  the  poor.  Government, 
while  it  grows  older,  seems  to  acquire  the  mo- 
roseness  of  age  ;  and  as  if  our  property  were 
become  dearer  in  proportion  as  it  increased  ;  as 
if  the  more  enormous  our  wealth,  the  more  ex- 
tensive our  fears,  all  our  possessions  are  paled 
up  with  new  edicts  every  day,  and  hung  round 
with  gibbets  to  scare  every  invader, 

I  cannot  tell  whether  it  is  from  the  number 
of  our  penal  laws,  or  the  licentiousness  of  our 
people,  that  this  country  should  show  more 
convicts  in  a  year  than  half  the  dominions  of 
Europe  united.  Perhaps  it  is  owing  to  both, 
for  they  mutually  produce  each  other.  When, 
by  indiscriminate  penal  laws,  a  nation  beholds 
the  same  punishment  affixed  to  dissimilar  de- 
grees of  guilt,  from  perceiving  no  distinction  in 
the  penalty,  the  people  are  led  to  lose  all  sense 


248  ZTbe  IDicar  of  limakefiel^ 

of  distinction  in  the  crime,  and  this  distinction 
is  the  bulwark  of  all  morality  :  thus  the  multi- 
tude of  laws  produce  new  vices,  and  new  vices 
call  for  fresh  restraints. 

It  were  to  be  wished,  then,  that  power,  in- 
stead of  contriving  new  laws  to  punish  vice, 
instead  of  drawing  hard  the  cords  of  society  till 
a  convulsion  come  to  burst  them,  instead  of 
cutting  away  wretches  as  useless  before  we  have 
tried  their  utility,  instead  of  converting  correc- 
tion into  vengeance,  it  were  to  be  wished  that 
we  tried  the  restrictive  arts  of  government,  and 
made  law  the  protector,  but  not  the  tyrant  of 
the  people.  We  should  then  find  that  creatures, 
whose  souls  are  held  as  dross,  only  wanted  the 
hand  of  a  refiner  ;  we  should  then  find  that 
creatures  now  stuck  up  for  long  tortures,  lest 
luxury  should  feel  a  momentary  pang,  might, 
if  properly  treated,  serve  to  sinew  the  state  in 
times  of  danger  ;  that  as  their  faces  are  like 
ours,  their  hearts  are  so  too  ;  that  few  minds 
are  so  base  as  that  perseverance  cannot  amend; 
that  a  man  may  see  his  last  crime  without  dying 
for  it  ;  and  that  very  little  blood  will  serve  to 
cement  our  security. 


^Mi 


M^i^: 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Happiness  and  Misery  Rather  the  Result  of  Prudence 
than  of  Virtue  in  This  Life— Temporal  Evils  or  Felici- 
ties Being  Regarded  by  Heaven  as  Things  Merely  in 
Themselves  Trifling,  and  Unworthy  Its  Care  in  the 
Distribution. 

I  HAD  now  been  confined  more  than  a  fort- 
night, but  had  not  since  my  arrival  been 
visited  by  my  dear  Olivia,  and  I  greatly  longed 
to  see  her.  Having  communicated  my  wishes 
to  my  wife,  the  next  morning  the  poor  girl  en- 
tered my  apartment,  leaning  on  her  sister's 
arm.  The  change  which  I  saw  in  her  counte- 
nance struck  me.  The  numberless  graces  that 
once  resided  there  were  now  fled,  and  the  hand 
of  death  seemed  to  have  moulded  every  feature 
to  alarm  me.  Her  temples  were  sunk,  her 
forehead  was  tense,  and  a  fatal  paleness  sat 
upon  her  cheek. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  thee,  my  dear,"  cried  I ; 
"but  why  this  dejection,  hivy^  I  hope,  my 
love,  you  have  too  great  a  regard  for  me  to  per- 
mit disappointment  thus   to  undermine  a  life 


250  Zhc  Dicar  of  ManeficlD 

which  I  prize  as  my  own.  Be  cheerful,  child, 
and  we  yet  may  see  happier  days." 

"You  have  ever,  sir,"  replied  she,  "  been  kind 
to  me,  and  it  adds  to  my  pain  that  I  shall  never 
have  an  opportunity  of  sharing  that  happiness 
you  promise.  Happiness,  I  fear,  is  no  longer 
reserved  for  me  here  ;  and  I  long  to  be  rid  of  a 
place  where  I  have  only  found  distress.  In- 
deed, sir,  I  wish  you  would  make  a  proper 
submission  to  Mr.  Thornhill  ;  it  may,  in  some 
measure,  induce  him  to  pity  you,  and  it  will 
give  me  relief  in  dying." 

**  Never,  child,"  replied  I,  "never  will  I  be 
brought  to  acknowledge  my  daughter  a  prosti- 
tute ;  for  though  the  world  may  look  upon  your 
offence  with  scorn,  let  it  be  mine  to  regard  it  as 
a  mark  of  credulity,  not  of  guilt.  My  dear,  I 
am  no  way  miserable  in  this  place,  however 
dismal  it  may  seem  ;  and  be  assured  that  while 
you  continue  to  bless  me  by  living,  he  shall 
never  have  my  consent  to  make  you  more 
wretched  by  marrying  another." 

After  the  departure  of  my  daughter,  my  fel- 
low-prisoner, who  was  by  at  this  iutervdew, 
sensibly  enough  expostulated  upon  my  obsti- 
nacy, in  refusing  a  submission  which  promised 
to  give  me  freedom.  He  observed  that  the  rest 
of  my  family  was  not  to  be  sacrificed  to  the 
peace  of  one  child  alone,  and  she  the  only  one 


^be  \t)(car  ot  110aFieticl2)  251 

who  had  offended  me,  "  Besides,"  added  he, 
"  I  don't  know  if  it  be  just  thus  to  obstruct  the 
union  of  man  and  wife,  which  you  do  at  present, 
by  refusing  to  consent  to  a  match  you  cannot 
hinder,  but  may  render  unhappy. ' ' 

"  Sir,"  replied  I,  "  you  are  unacquainted  with 
the  man  that  oppresses  us.  I  am  very  sensible 
that  no  submission  I  can  make  could  procure 
me  liberty  even  for  an  hour.  I  am  told  that 
even  in  this  very  room  a  debtor  of  his,  no  later 
than  last  year,  died  for  want.  But  though  my 
submission  and  approbation  could  transfer  me 
from  hence  to  the  most  beautiful  apartment  he 
is  possessed  of;  yet  I  would  grant  neither,  as 
something  whispers  me,  that  it  would  be  giving 
a  sanction  to  adultery.  While  my  daughter  lives, 
no  other  marriage  of  his  shall  ever  be  legal  in 
my  eye.  Were  she  removed,  indeed,  I  should 
be  the  basest  of  men,  from  any  resentment  of 
my  own,  to  attempt  putting  asunder  those  who 
wish  for  a  union.  No,  villain  as  he  is,  I  should 
then  wish  him  married,  to  prevent  the  conse- 
quences of  his  future  debaucheries.  But  now 
should  I  not  be  the  most  cruel  of  all  fathers  to 
sign  an  instrument  which  must  send  my  child 
to  the  grave,  merely  to  avoid  a  prison  myself; 
and  thus,  to  escape  one  pang,  break  my  child's 
heart  with  a  thousand  ?  ' ' 

He  acquiesced  in  the  justice  of  this  answer. 


252  Xlbc  Dicar  of  'Cmafteflel^ 

but  could  not  avoid  observing  that  he  feared 
my  daughter's  life  was  already  too  much  wasted 
to  keep  me  long  a  prisoner,  "  However,"  con- 
tinued he,  "though  you  refuse  to  submit  to 
the  nephew,  I  hope  you  have  no  objections 
to  lavHng  your  case  before  the  uncle,  who  has 
the  first  character  in  the  kingdom  for  every 
thing  that  is  just  and  good.  I  would  advise 
you  to  send  him  a  letter  by  the  post,  intimating 
all  his  nephew's  ill-usage,  and  my  life  for  it,  in 
three  days  you  shall  have  an  answer. ' '  I  thanked 
him  for  the  hint,  and  instantly  set  about  com- 
plying ;  but  I  Vv'anted  paper,  and  unluckily  all 
our  money  had  been  laid  out  that  morning  in 
provisions  ;  however,  he  supplied  me. 

For  the  three  ensuing  days  I  was  in  a  state 
of  anxiety  to  know  what  reception  my  letter 
might  meet  with ;  but  in  the  meantime  was 
frequently  solicited  by  my  wife  to  submit  to  any 
conditions  rather  than  remain  here,  and  every 
hour  received  repeated  accounts  of  the  decline 
of  my  daughter's  health.  The  third  day  and 
the  fourth  arrived,  but  I  received  no  answer  to 
my  letter — the  complaints  of  a  stranger  against 
a  favorite  nephew  were  no  way  likely  to  suc- 
ceed ;  so  that  these  hopes  soon  vanished  like  all 
my  former.  My  mind,  however,  still  supported 
itself,  though  confinement  and  bad  air  began  to 
make  a  visible  alteration  in  my  health,  and  my 


tibe  \Dicar  ot  ma?^efiel(>  253 

arm  that  had  suffered  in  the  fire  grew  worse. 
My  children,  however,  sat  by  me,  and  while  I 
was  stretched  on  my  straw  read  to  me  by  tmrns, 
or  listened  and  wept  at  my  instructions.  But 
my  daughter's  health  declined  faster  than  mine. 
Every  message  from  her  contributed  to  increase 
my  apprehensions  and  pain.  The  fifth  morning 
after  I  had  written  the  letter  which  was  sent  to 
Sir  William  Thornhill,  I  was  alarmed  with  an 
account  that  she  was  speechless.  Now  it  was 
that  confinement  was  truly  painful  to  me.  My 
soul  was  bursting  from  its  prison  to  be  near  the 
pillow  of  my  child  to  comfort,  to  strengthen 
her,  to  receive  her  last  wishes,  and  teach  her 
soul  the  way  to  heaven !  Another  account 
came.  She  was  expiring,  and  yet  I  was  de- 
barred the  small  comfort  of  weeping  by  her. 
My  fellow-prisoner  some  time  after  came  with 
the  last  account.  He  bade  me  be  patient.  She 
was  dead.  The  next  morning  he  returned,  and 
found  me  with  my  two  little  ones,  now  my  only 
companions,  who  were  using  all  their  innocent 
efforts  to  comfort  me.  They  entreated  to  read 
to  me,  and  bade  me  not  cry,  for  I  was  now  too 
old  to  weep.  ' '  And  is  not  my  sister  an  angel 
now,  papa?  "  cried  the  eldest,  "and  why,  then 
are  you  sorry  for  her  ?  I  wish  I  were  an  angel 
out  of  this  frightful  place,  if  my  papa  were  with 
me."  —  "Yes,"    added    my   youngest   darling. 


254  Ube  IDicar  ot  'Uaakeficl& 

"heaven,  where  my  sister  is,  is  a  finer  place 
than  this,  and  there  are  none  but  good  people 
there,  and  the  people  here  are  very  bad." 

Mr.  Jenkinson  interrupted  their  harmless 
prattle  by  observing  that,  now  my  daughter 
was  no  more,  I  should  seriously  think  of  the 
rest  of  my  family,  and  attempt  to  save  my  own 
life,  which  was  every  day  declining  for  want  of 
necessaries  and  wholesome  air.  He  added  that 
it  was  not  incumbent  on  me  to  sacrifice  any 
pride  or  resentment  of  my  own  to  the  welfare 
of  those  who  depended  on  me  for  support ;  and 
that  I  was  now,  both  by  reason  and  justice, 
obliged  to  try  to  reconcile  my  landlord. 

"  Heaven  be  praised,"  replied  I,  "  there  is  no 
pride  left  me  now.  I  should  detest  my  own 
heart,  if  I  saw  either  pride  or  resentment  lurk- 
ing there.  On  the  contrary,  as  my  oppressor 
has  been  once  my  parishioner,  I  hope  one  day  to 
present  him  up  an  unpolluted  soul  at  the  eternal 
tribunal.  No,  sir,  I  have  no  resentment  now, 
and  though  he  has  taken  from  me  what  I  held 
dearer  than  all  his  treasures,  though  he  has 
wrung  my  heart,  for  I  am  sick  almost  to  fainting, 
very  sick,  my  fellow-prisoner,  yet  that  shall  never 
inspire  me  with  vengeance.  I  am  now  willing 
to  approve  his  marriage,  and  if  this  submission 
can  do  him  any  pleasure,  let  him  know  that  if 
I  have  done  him  an}-  injury  I  am  sorry  for  it." 


^be  meat  of  TimaFietTtelt)  255 

Mr.  Jenkinson  took  pen  and  ink,  and  wrote 
down  my  submission  nearly  as  I  have  expressed 
it,  to  which  I  signed  my  name.  My  son  was 
employed  to  carry  the  letter  to  Mr.  Thornhill, 
who  was  then  at  his  seat  in  the  country.  He 
went,  and  in  about  six  hours  returned  with  a 
verbal  answer.  He  had  some  difficulty,  he  said, 
to  get  a  sight  of  his  landlord,  as  the  servants 
were  insolent  and  suspicious  ;  but  he  accident- 
ally saw  him  as  he  was  going  out  upon  business, 
preparing  for  his  marriage,  w^hich  was  to  be  in 
three  days.  He  continued  to  inform  us,  that 
he  stepped  up  in  the  humblest  manner  and  de- 
livered the  letter,  which,  when  Mr.  Thornhill 
had  read,  he  said  that  all  submission  was  now 
too  late  and  unnecessary  ;  that  he  had  heard  of 
our  application  to  his  uncle,  which  met  with 
the  contempt  it  deserved  ;  and  as  for  the  rest, 
that  all  future  applications  should  be  directed 
to  his  attorney,  not  to  him.  He  observed,  how- 
ever, that  as  he  had  a  very  good  opinion  of  the 
discretion  of  the  two  young  ladies,  they  might 
have  been  the  most  agreeable  intercessors. 

'*  Well,  sir,"  said  I  to  my  fellow-prisoner, 
"  you  now  discover  the  temper  of  the  man  that 
oppresses  me.  He  can  at  once  be  facetious  and 
cruel ;  but  let  him  use  me  as  he  will,  I  shall 
soon  be  free,  in  spite  of  all  his  bolts  to  restrain 
me.     I  am  now  drawing  towards  an  abode  that 


256  ^be  IDicat  ot  MaKefielO 

looks  brighter  as  I  approach  it;  this  expecta- 
tion cheers  my  afflictions,  and  though  I  leave  a 
helpless  family  of  orphans  behind  me,  yet  they 
will  not  be  utterly  forsaken ;  some  friend,  per- 
haps, will  be  found  to  assist  them  for  the  sake 
of  their  poor  father,  and  some  may  charitably 
relieve  them  for  the  sake  of  their  Heavenly 
Father." 

Just  as  I  spoke,  my  wife,  whom  I  had  not 
seen  that  day  before,  appeared  with  looks  of 
terror,  and  making  efforts,  but  unable  to  speak. 
"  Why,  my  love,"  cried  I,  "  why  will  you  thus 
increase  my  afflictions  by  your  own  !  What 
though  no  submission  can  turn  our  severe  mas- 
ter, though  he  has  doomed  me  to  die  in  this 
place  of  wretchedness,  and  though  we  have  lost 
a  darling  child,  yet  still  you  will  find  comfort 
in  your  other  children  when  I  shall  be  no 
more." — "We  have,  indeed,  lost,"  returned 
she,  "  a  darling  child.  My  Sophia,  my  dearest, 
is  gone,  snatched  from  us,  carried  off  by  ruf- 
fians!" 

"How,  madam!"  cried  my  fellow-prisoner, 
"  Miss  Sophia  carried  off  by  \nllaius  !  Sure  it 
cannot  be  !  " 

She  could  only  answer  with  a  fixed  look 
and  a  flood  of  tears.  But  one  of  the  pris- 
oners' wives,  who  was  present  and  came  in 
with   her,    gave   us    a  more   distinct  account. 


Zbc  Dicar  of  makefielD 


257 


vShe  informed  us  that  as  my  wife,  my  daugh- 
ter, and  herself,  were  taking  a  walk  together 
on  the  great  road  a  little  way  out  of  the  vil- 


THE  ABDUCTION  OF  SOPHIA. 


lage,  a  post-chaise  and  pair  drove  up  to  them 
and  instantly  stopped.  Upon  which,  a  well- 
dressed  man,  but   not  Mr.  Thornhill,  stepping 


258  XTbe  Dicar  ot  XUakefielD 

out,  clasped  my  daughter  round  the  waist,  and 
forcing  her  in,  bid  the  postilion  drive  on,  so 
that  they  were  out  of  sight  in  a  moment. 

"  Now,"  cried  I,  "  the  sum  of  my  miseries  is 
made  up  ;  nor  is  it  in  the  power  of  any  thing  on 
earth  to  give  me  another  pang.  What !  not  one 
left  !  not  to  leave  me  one  !  the  monster !  the 
child  that  was  next  my  heart !  she  had  the 
beauty  of  an  angel,  and  almost  the  wisdom  of 
an  angel !  But  support  that  woman,  nor  let  her 
fall.     Not  to  leave  me  one  !  " 

"Alas!  my  husband,"  said  my  wife,  "you 
seem  to  want  comfort  even  more  than  I.  Our 
distresses  are  great ;  but  I  could  bear  this  and 
more,  if  I  saw  you  but  easy.  They  may  take 
away  my  children,  and  all  the  world,  if  they 
leave  me  but  you. ' ' 

My  son,  who  was  present,  endeavored  to  mod- 
erate our  grief ;  he  bade  us  take  comfort,  for  he 
hoped  that  we  might  still  have  reason  to  be 
thankful. — "My  child,"  cried  I,  "look  round 
the  world,  and  see  if  there  be  any  happiness  left 
me  now.  Is  not  ever>'  ray  of  comfort  shut  out  ; 
while  all  our  bright  prospects  only  lie  beyond 
the  grave?" — "My  dear  father,"  returned  he, 
"  I  hope  there  is  still  something  that  will  give 
you  an  interval  of  satisfaction  ;  for  I  have  a 
letter  from  my  brother  George." — "What  of 
him,  child  ?  "  interrupted  I.    "  Does  he  know  of 


^be  IDicar  of  makcficID  259 

our  miserj^  ?  I  hope  my  boy  is  exempt  from  any 
part  of  what  his  wretched  famil}-  suffers?" — 
"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  he  ;  "  he  is  perfectly  gay, 
cheerful,  and  happy.  His  letter  brings  nothing 
but  good  news  ;  he  is  the  favorite  of  his  colonel, 
who  promises  to  procure  him  the  very  next 
lieutenancy  that  becomes  vacant," 

"  And  are  you  sure  of  all  this  ?  "  cried  my  wife, 
"  are  you  sure  that  nothing  ill  has  befallen  my 
boy?" — "Nothing,  indeed,  madam,"  returned 
my  son  ;  "  you  shall  see  the  letter,  which  will 
give  you  the  highest  pleasure  ;  and  if  any  thing 
can  procure  you  comfort,  I  am  sure  that  will." 
— "  But  are  you  sure,"  still  repeated  she,  "  that 
the  letter  is  from  himself,  and  that  he  is  really 
so  happy?" — "Yes,  madam,"  replied  he,  "it 
is  certainly  his,  and  he  will  one  day  be  the 
credit  and  the  support  of  our  family  !  " — "Then 
I  thank  Providence,"  cried  she,  "that  my  last 
letter  to  him  has  miscarried.  Yes,  my  dear," 
continued  she,  turning  to  me,  "  I  will  now  con- 
fess that,  though  the  hand  of  Heaven  is  sore 
upon  us  in  other  instances,  it  t  as  been  favora- 
ble here.  By  the  last  letter  I  wrote  my  son, 
which  was  in  the  bitterness  of  anger,  I  desired 
him,  upon  his  mother's  blessing,  aud  if  he  had 
the  heart  of  a  man,  to  see  justice  done  to  his 
father  and  sister,  and  avenge  our  cause.  But 
thanks  be  to  Him  that  directs  all  things,  it  has 


26o  ^be  Dicar  of  llOaftefieIC) 

miscarried,  and  I  am  at  rest!" — "Woman," 
cried  I,  "  thou  hast  done  very  ill,  and  at  another 
time  my  reproaches  might  have  been  more  se- 
vere. Oh  !  what  a  tremendous  gulf  hast  thou 
escaped,  that  would  have  buried  both  thee  and 
him  in  endless  ruin.  Providence,  indeed,  has 
here  been  kinder  to  us  than  we  to  ourselves  ! 
It  has  reserved  that  son  to  be  the  father  and 
protector  of  my  children  when  I  shall  be  away. 
How  unjustly  did  I  complain  of  being  stripped 
of  every  comfort,  when  still  I  hear  that  he  is 
happy,  and  insensible  of  our  afflictions  ;  still 
kept  in  reserve  to  support  his  widowed  mother, 
and  to  protect  his  brothers  and  sisters  !  But 
what  sisters  has  he  left?  He  has  no  sisters 
now ;  they  are  all  gone,  robbed  from  me,  and  I 
am  undone  !  " — "  Father,"  interrupted  my  son, 
' '  I  beg  you  will  give  me  leave  to  read  his  letter  ; 
I  know  it  will  please  you."  Upon  which,  with 
my  permission,  he  read  as  follows  : 

*  *  Honored  Sir  : — I  have  called  off  my 
imagination  a  few  moments  from  the  pleasures 
that  surround  me,  to  fix  it  upon  objects  that  are 
still  more  pleasing,  the  dear  little  fireside  at 
home.  My  fancy  draws  that  harmless  group  as 
listening  to  every  line  of  this  with  great  com- 
posure. I  view  those  faces  with  delight  which 
never  felt  the  deforming  hand  of  ambition  or 


^be  Dicar  of  Wakefield  261 

distress  !  But  whatever  your  happiness  may  be 
at  home,  I  am  sure  it  will  be  some  addition  to 
it  to  hear  that  I  am  perfectly  pleased  with  my 
situation,  and  every  way  happy  here. 

'*  Our  regiment  is  countermanded,  and  is  not 
to  leave  the  kingdom  ;  the  colonel,  who  pro- 
fesses himself  my  friend,  takes  me  with  him  to 
all  companies  where  he  is  acquainted,  and  after 
my  first  visit  I  generally  find  myself  received 
with   increased  respect  upon   repeating   it.     I 

danced  last  night  with  I^ady  G ,  and  could  I 

forget  you  know  whom,  I  might  be,  perhaps, 
successful.  But  it  is  my  fate  still  to  remember 
others,  while  I  am  myself  forgotten  by  most  of 
my  absent  friends,  and  in  this  number  I  fear, 
sir,  that  I  must  consider  you  ;  for  I  have  long 
expected  the  pleasure  of  a  letter  from  home  to 
no  purpose.  Olivia  and  Sophia,  too,  promised 
to  write,  but  seem  to  have  forgotten  me.  Tell 
them  they  are  two  arrant  little  baggages,  and 
that  I  am  this  moment  in  a  most  violent  passion 
with  them  ;  yet  still,  I  know  not  how,  though  I 
want  to  bluster  a  little,  my  heart  is  respondent 
only  to  softer  emotions.  Then,  tell  them,  sir, 
that,  after  all,  I  love  them  affectionately,  and  be 
assured  of  my  ever  remaining 

"  Your  dutiful  son." 

**  In  all  our  miseries,"  cried  I,  "  what  thanks 


262  ^be  Dicar  of  "^akefielD 

have  we  not  to  return,  that  one  at  least  of  our 
family  is  exempted  from  what  we  suffer ! 
Heaven  be  his  guard,  and  keep  my  boy  thus 
happy  to  be  the  supporter  of  his  widowed 
mother,  and  the  father  of  these  two  babes, 
which  is  all  the  patrimony  I  can  now  bequeath 
him.  May  he  keep  their  innocence  from  the 
temptations  of  want,  and  be  their  conductor  in 
the  paths  of  honor  !  "  I  had  scarcely  said  these 
words,  when  a  noise  like  that  of  a  tumult 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  prison  below  ;  it 
died  away  soon  after,  and  a  clanking  of  fetters 
was  heard  along  the  passage  that  led  to  my 
apartment.  The  keeper  of  the  prison  entered, 
holding  a  man  all  bloody,  wounded,  and  fet- 
tered with  the  hea^-iest  irons.  I  looked  with 
compassion  on  the  wretch  as  he  approached 
me,  but  with  horror  when  I  found  it  was  my 
own  son.  "  My  George  !  my  George  !  and  do 
I  behold  thee  thus  ?  Wounded  !  fettered  !  Is 
this  thy  happiness  !  Is  this  the  manner  you 
return  to  me  !  Oh  that  this  sight  could  break 
my  heart  at  once,  and  let  me  die  !  " 

"Where,  sir,  is  your  fortitude?"  returned 
my  son,  with  intrepid  voice.  "  I  must  suffer  ; 
my  life  is  forfeited,  and  let  them  take  it." 

I  tried  to  restrain  my  passions  for  a  few  min- 
utes in  silence,  but  I  thought  I  should  have  died 
with  the  effort.     "  Oh,  my  boy,  my  heart  weeps 


,  trbe  \t)icar  of  mahefielD  263 

to  behold  tHee  thus,  and  I  cannot,  cannot  help 
it !  In  the  moment  that  I  thought  thee  blessed, 
and  prayed  for  thy  safety,  to  behold  thee  thus 
again  ! — chained,  wounded  !  And  yet  the  death 
of  the  youthful  is  happy.  But  I  am  old,  a  very 
old  man,  and  have  lived  to  see  this  day.  To 
see  my  children  all  untimely  falling  about  me, 
while  I  continue  a  wretched  survivor  in  the 
midst  of  ruin  !  May  all  the  curses  that  ever 
sunk  a  soul  fall  heavy  upon  the  murderer  of  my 
children  !     May  he  live,  like  me,  to  see " 

"Hold,  sir!"  replied  my  son,  "  or  I  shall 
blush  for  thee.  How,  sir  !  forgetful  of  your 
age,  your  holy  calling,  thus  to  arrogate  the  jus- 
tice of  Heaven,  and  fling  those  curses  upward 
that  must  soon  descend  to  crush  thy  own  gray 
head  with  destruction  !  No,  sir,  let  it  be  your 
care  now  to  fit  me  for  that  vile  death  I  must 
shortly  suffer,  to  arm  me  with  hope  and  resolu- 
tion, to  give  me  courage  to  drink  of  that  bitter- 
ness which  must  shortly  be  m}^  portion  !  " 

"  My  child,  you  must  not  die  !  I  am  sure  no 
offence  of  thine  can  deserve  so  vile  a  punish- 
ment. My  George  could  never  be  guilty  of  a 
crime  to  make  his  ancestors  ashamed  of  him." 

**  Mine,  sir,"  returned  my  son,  "is,  I  fear,  an 
unpardonable  one.  When  I  received  my  moth- 
er's letter  from  home,  I  immediately  came 
down,  determined  to  punish  the  betrayer  of  our 


264  ^be  IDicar  of  MaheficlD 

honor,  and  sent  him  an  order  to  meet  me,  which 
he  answered  not  in  person,  but  by  dispatching 
four  of  his  domestics  to  seize  me.  I  wounded  one 
who  first  assauhed  me,  and  I  fear  desperately  ; 
but  the  rest  made  me  their  prisoner.  The  cow- 
ard is  determined  to  put  the  law  in  execution 
against  me  ;  the  proofs  are  undeniable  ;  I  have 
sent  a  challenge ;  and  as  I  am  the  first  trans- 
gressor upon  the  statute,  I  see  no  hopes  of  par- 
don. But  you  have  often  charmed  me  with 
your  lessons  of  fortitude,  let  me  now,  sir,  find 
them  in  your  example." 

"And,  my  son,  you  shall  find  them.  I  am 
now  raised  above  this  world  and  all  the  pleas- 
ures it  can  produce.  From  this  moment  I  break 
from  my  heart  all  the  ties  that  held  it  down  to 
earth,  and  will  prepare  to  fit  us  both  for  eterni- 
ty. Yes,  m}^  son,  I  will  point  out  the  way,  and 
my  soul  shall  guide  yours  in  the  ascent,  for  we 
will  take  our  flight  together.  I  now  see  and 
am  convinced  you  can  expect  no  pardon  here, 
and  I  can  only  exhort  you  to  seek  it  at  that 
greatest  tribunal  where  we  both  shall  shortly 
answer.  But  let  us  not  be  niggardly  in  our  ex- 
hortation, but  let  all  our  fellow-prisoners  have 
a  share.  Good  gaoler,  let  them  be  permitted 
to  stand  here  while  I  attempt  to  improve 
them."  Thus  saying,  I  made  an  efifort  to  rise 
from  my  straw,  but  wanted  strength,  and  was 


Zbc  IDicar  of  MafteficlO 


265 


able  only  to  recline  agaiust  the  wall.  The 
prisoners  assembled  themselves  according  to 
my  directions,  for  they  loved  to  hear  my  coun- 


SERMON   IN    THE   CELL. 


sel  ;  my  son  and  his  mother  supported  me 
on  either  side  ;  I  looked  and  saw  that  none  were 
wanting,  and  then  addressed  them  with  the  fol- 
lowing exhortation. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  Equal  Dealings  of  Providence  Demonstrated  with 
Regard  to  the  Happy  and  the  Miserable  Here  Be- 
low—That from  the  Nature  of  Pleasure  and  Pain, 
the  Wretched  must  be  Repaid  the  Balance  of  Their 
Sufferings  in  the  Life  Hereafter. 

''  /\A^^  friends,  my  children,  and  fellow-suf- 
i  V  1  ferers,  when  I  reflect  on  the  distribu- 
tion of  good  and  evil  here  below,  I  find  that 
much  has  been  given  man  to  enjoy,  yet  still 
more  to  suffer.  Though  we  should  examine  the 
whole  world,  we  shall  not  find  one  man  so  happy 
as  to  have  nothing  left  to  wish  for  ;  but  we  daily 
see  thousands  who  by  suicide  show  us  they  have 
nothing  left  to  hope.  In  this  life,  then,  it  ap- 
pears that  we  cannot  be  entirely  blessed ;  but 
yet  we  may  be  completely  miserable. 

"Why  man  should  thus  feel  pain,  why  our 
wretchedness  sliould  be  requisite  in  the  forma- 
tion of  universal  felicity  ;  why,  when  all  other 
systems  are  made  perfect  by  the  perfection  of 
their  subordinate  parts,  the  great  system  should 


XLbc  IDlcar  of  makcfiel^  267 

require  for  its  perfection  parts  that  are  not  only 
subordinate  to  others,  but  imperfect  in  them- 
selves ;  these  are  questions  that  never  can  be 
explained,  and  might  be  useless  if  knovs^n.  On 
this  subject  Providence  has  thought  fit  to  elude 
our  curiosity,  satisfied  with  granting  us  motives 
to  consolation. 

'  *  In  this  situation,  man  has  called  in  the  friend- ' 
ly  assistance  of  philosophy  ;  and  Heaven,  seeing 
the  incapacity  of  that  to  console  him,  has  given 
him  the  aid  of  religion.  The  consolations  of 
philosophy  are  very  amusing,  but  often  falla- 
cious. It  tells  us  that  life  is  filled  with  com- 
forts if  we  will  but  enjoy  them  ;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  though  we  unavoidably  have  mis- 
eries here,  life  is  short,  and  they  will  soon  be 
over.  Thus  do  these  consolations  destroy  each 
other  ;  for  if  life  is  a  place  of  comfort,  its  short- 
ness must  be  misery ;  and  if  it  be  long,  our 
griefs  are  protracted.  Thus  philosophy  is  weak  ; 
but  religion  comforts  in  a  higher  strain.  Man 
is  here,  it  tells  us,  fitting  up  his  mind  and  pre- 
paring it  for  another  abode.  When  the  good 
man  leaves  the  body,  and  is  all  a  glorious  mind, 
he  will  find  he  has  been  making  himself  a 
heaven  of  happiness  here  ;  while  the  wretch 
that  has  been  maimed  and  contaminated  by  his 
vices,  shrinks  from  his  body  with  terror,  and 
finds  that  he  has  anticipated  the  vengeance  of 


268  ^be  IDicar  of  makcficlD 

Heaven.  To  religion,  then,  we  must  hold,  in 
every  circumstance  of  life,  for  our  truest  com- 
fort ;  for  if  already  we  are  happy,  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  think  we  can  make  that  happiness  unending; 
and  if  we  are  miserable,  it  is  very  consoling  to 
think  that  there  is  a  place  of  rest.  Thus  to  the 
fortunate,  religion  holds  out  a  continuance  of 
bliss  ;  to  the  wretched,  a  change  from  pain. 

"  But  though  religion  is  very  kind  to  all  men, 
it  has  promised  peculiar  rewards  to  the  un- 
happy ;  the  sick,  the  naked,  the  houseless,  the 
heavy-laden,  and  the  prisoner,  have  ever  most 
frequent  promises  in  our  sacred  law.  The 
Author  of  our  religion  everywhere  professes 
himself  the  wretch's  friend,  and,  unlike  the 
false  ones  of  this  world,  bestows  all  his  caresses 
upon  the  forlorn.  The  unthinking  have  cen- 
sured this  as  partiality,  as  a  preference  without 
merit  to  deserve  it.  But  they  never  reflect  that 
it  is  not  in  the  power  even  of  Heaven  itself  to 
make  the  offer  of  unceasing  felicity  as  great  a 
gift  to  the  happy  as  to  the  miserable.  To  the 
first,  eternity  is  but  a  single  blessing,  since,  at 
most,  it  but  increases  what  they  already  possess. 
To  the  latter,  it  is  a  double  advantage  ;  for  it 
diminishes  their  pain  here,  and  rewards  them 
with  heavenly  bliss  hereafter. 

"  But  Providence  is  in  another  respect  kinder 
to  the  poor  than  the  rich  ;  for  as  it  thus  makes 


Ube  IDicar  ot  maftcfielD  269 

the  life  after  death  more  desirable,  so  it  smooths 
the  passage  there.  The  wretched  have  had  a 
long  familiarity  with  every  face  of  terror.  The 
man  of  sorrows  lays  himself  quietly  down, 
without  possessions  to  regret,  and  but  few  ties 
to  stop  his  departure  ;  he  feels  only  nature's 
pang  in  the  final  separation,  and  this  is  no  way 
greater  than  he  has  often  fainted  under  before ; 
for,  after  a  certain  degree  of  pain,  every  new 
breach  that  death  opens  in  the  constitution, 
nature  kindly  covers  with  insensibility. 

"Thus  Providence  has  given  the  wretched 
two  advantages  over  the  happy  in  this  life  : 
greater  felicity  in  dying,  and  in  heaven  all  that 
superiorit}'  of  pleasure  which  arises  from  con- 
trasted enjoyment.  And  this  superiority,  my 
friends,  is  no  small  advantage,  and  seems  to  be 
one  of  the  pleasures  of  the  poor  man  in  the  para- 
ble ;  for  though  he  was  already  in  heaven,  and 
felt  all  the  raptures  it  could  give,  yet  it  was 
mentioned  as  an  addition  to  his  happiness,  that 
he  once  had  been  wretched,  and  now  was  com- 
forted ;  that  he  had  known  what  it  was  to  be 
miserable,  and  now  felt  what  it  was  to  be 
happy. 

"Thus,  my  friends,  you  see  religion  does 
what  philosophy  could  never  do  :  it  shows  the 
equal  dealings  of  Heaven  to  the  happy  and  the 
unhappy,  and  levels  all  human  enjoyments  to 


270  ^be  IDicar  of  Wi^\{cficlb 

nearly  the  same  standard.  It  gives  to  both 
rich  and  poor  the  same  happiness  hereafter,  and 
equal  hopes  to  aspire  after  it ;  but  if  the  rich 
have  the  advantage  of  enjoying  pleasure  here, 
the  poor  have  the  endless  satisfaction  of  know- 
ing what  it  was  once  to  be  miserable,  when 
crowned  with  endless  felicity  hereafter  ;  and 
even  though  this  should  be  called  a  small  ad- 
vantage, yet  being  an  eternal  one,  it  must  make 
up  by  duration  what  the  temporal  happiness  of 
the  great  may  have  exceeded  by  intenseness. 

"These  are,  therefore,  the  consolations  which 
the  wretched  have  peculiar  to  themselves,  and 
in  which  they  are  above  the  rest  of  mankind ; 
in  other  respects  they  are  below  them.  They 
who  would  know  the  miseries  of  the  poor,  must 
see  life  and  endure  it.  To  declaim  on  the  tem- 
poral advantages  they  enjoy,  is  onl}^  repeating 
what  none  other  either  believe  or  practise.  The 
men  w^ho  have  the  necessaries  of  living  are  not 
poor,  and  they  who  want  them  must  be  misera- 
ble. Yes,  my  friends,  we  must  be  miserable. 
No  vain  efforts  of  a  refined  imagination  can 
soothe  the  wants  of  nature,  can  give  elastic 
sweetness  to  the  dank  vapor  of  a  dungeon,  or 
ease  to  the  throbbings  of  a  broken  heart !  Let 
the  philosopher  from  his  couch  of  softness  tell  us 
that  we  can  resist  all  these.  Alas  !  the  effort  by 
which  we  resist  them  is  still  the  greatest  pain. 


XLbc  IDicar  of  limaftcfielD  271 

Death  is  slight,  and  any  man  may  sustain  it ; 
but  torments  are  dreadful,  and  these  no  man 
can  endure. 

"To  us,  then,  my  friends,  the  promises  of 
happiness  in  heaven  should  be  peculiarly  dear ; 
for  if  our  reward  be  in  this  life  alone,  we  are 
then,  indeed,  of  all  men  the  most  miserable. 
When  I  look  round  these  gloomy  walls,  made 
to  terrify,  as  well  as  to  confine  us  ;  this  light  that 
only  serves  to  show  the  horrors  of  the  place, 
those  shackles  that  tyranny  has  imposed,  or 
crime  made  necessary  ;  when  I  survey  these 
emaciated  looks,  and  hear  those  groans,  oh,  my 
friends,  what  a  glorious  exchange  would  heaven 
be  for  these  !  To  fly  through  regions  uncon- 
fined  as  air,  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  eternal 
bliss,  to  carol  over  endless  hymns  of  praise,  to 
have  no  master  to  threaten  or  insult  us,  but  the 
form  of  Goodness  himself  forever  in  our  eyes : 
when  I  think  of  these  things.  Death  becomes 
the  messenger  of  very  glad  tidings ;  when  I 
think  of  these  things,  his  sharpest  arrows  be- 
come the  staff  of  my  support ;  when  I  think  of 
these  things,  what  is  there  in  life  worth  ha^^ng  ? 
when  I  think  of  these  things,  what  is  there  that 
should  not  be  spurned  away  ?  Kings  in  their 
palaces  should  groan  for  such  advantages  ;  but 
we,  humbled  as  we  are,  should  yearn  for  them. 

' '  And  shall  these  things  be  ours  ?     Ours  they 


272  XLbc  IDicar  of  MakefielD 

will  certainly  be  if  we  but  try  for  them  ;  and, 
what  is  a  comfort,  we  are  shut  out  from  many 
temptations  that  would  retard  our  pursuit. 
Only  let  us  try  for  them  and  they  will  certainly 
be  ours,  and,  what  is  still  a  comfort,  shortly 
too ;  for  if  we  look  back  on  a  past  life  it  ap- 
pears but  a  very  short  span,  and  whatever  we  may 
think  of  the  rest  of  life,  it  will  yet  be  found  of 
less  duration  ;  as  we  grow  older  the  days  seem 
to  grow  shorter,  and  our  intimacy  with  Time 
ever  lessens  the  perception  of  his  stay.  Then 
let  us  take  comfort  now,  for  we  shall  soon  be  at 
our  journey's  end  ;  we  shall  soon  lay  down  the 
heavy  burthen  laid  by  Heaven  upon  us  ;  and 
though  Death,  the  only  friend  of  the  wretched, 
for  a  little  while  mocks  the  weary  traveller  with 
the  view,  and  like  his  horizon  still  flies  before 
him,  yet  the  time  will  certainl}^  and  shortly 
come  when  we  shall  cease  from  our  toil ;  when 
the  luxuriant  great  ones  of  the  world  shall  no 
more  tread  us  to  the  earth  ;  when  we  shall 
think  with  pleasure  of  our  sufferings  below ; 
when  we  shall  be  surrounded  with  all  our 
friends,  or  such  as  deser^^ed  our  friendship ; 
when  our  bliss  shall  be  unutterable,  and  still, 
to  crown  all,  unending." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


Happier  Prospects  Begin  to  Appear— I^et  Us  be  Inflexi- 
ble, and  Fortune  will  at  I,ast  Change  in  Our  Favor. 

WHEN  I  had  thus  finished,  and  my  audi- 
ence was  retired,  the  gaoler,  who  was 
one  of  the  most  humane  of  his  profession,  hoped 
I  would  not  be  displeased,  as  what  he  did  was 
but  his  duty,  observing  that  he  must  be  obliged 
to  remove  my  son  into  a  stronger  cell,  but  that 
he  should  be  permitted  to  revisit  me  every 
morning.  I  thanked  him  for  his  clemency,  and 
grasping  my  boy's  hand  bade  him  farewell,  and 
be  mindful  of  the  great  duty  that  was  before 
him. 

I  again,  therefore,  laid  me  down,  and  one  of 
my  little  ones  sat  by  my  bedside  reading,  when 
Mr.  Jenkinson  entering,  informed  me  that  there 
was  news  of  my  daughter  ;  for  that  she  was 
seen  bj'  a  person  about  two  hours  before  in  a 
strange  gentleman's  company,  and  that  they 
had  stopped  at  a  neighboring  village   for  re- 


274  ^be  meat  of  TKHaheficlO 

freshment,  and  seemed  as  if  returning  to  town. 
He  had  scarcely  delivered  this  news  when  the 
gaoler  came  with  looks  of  haste  and  pleasure  to 
inform  me  that  my  daughter  was  found.  Moses 
came  running  in  a  moment  after,  crying  ovit 
that  his  sister  was  below,  and  coming  up  with 
our  old  friend  Mr.  Burchell. 

Just  as  he  delivered  this  news  my  dearest  girl 
entered,  and  with  looks  almost  wild  with  pleas- 
ure, ran  to  kiss  me  in  a  transport  of  affection. 
Her  mother's  tears  and  silence  also  showed  her 
pleasure.  "Here,  papa,"  cried  the  charming 
girl,  "  here  is  the  brave  man  to  whom  I  owe 
my  delivery  ;  to  this  gentleman's  intrepidity  I 
am  indebted  for  my  happiness  and  safety."  A 
kiss  from  Mr.  Burchell,  whose  pleasure  seemed 
even  greater  than  hers,  interrupted  what  she 
was  going  to  add. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Burchell,"  cried  I,  "this  is  but  a 
wretched  habitation  3-ou  now  find  us  in  ;  and 
we  are  now  very  different  from  what  you  last 
saw  us.  You  were  ever  our  friend ;  we  have 
long  discovered  our  errors  with  regard  to  you, 
and  repented  of  our  ingratitude.  After  the  vile 
usage  you  then  received  at  my  hands,  I  am 
almost  ashamed  to  behold  your  face  ;  yet  I  hope 
you  '11  forgive  me,  as  I  was  deceived  by  a  base, 
ungenerous  wretch,  who,  under  the  mask  of 
friendship,  has  undone  me." 


^be  Dicar  ot  makefielD 


275 


"It  is  impossible,"  replied  Mr.  Burchell, 
"that  I  should  forgive  you,  as  you  never  de 
served  my  resentment.  I  partly  saw  your  delu- 
sion then,  and  as  it  was  out  of  my  power  to 
restrain,  I  could  only  pity  it." 


"i"»*ii.iiibiiiUi\i^'-^*\>. 


RETURN  OF    SOPHIA. 

"It  was  ever  my  conjecture,"  cried  I,  "that 
your  mind  was  noble ;  but  now  I  find  it  so. 
But  tell  me,  my  dear  child,  how  hast  thou  been 
relieved,  or  who  the  ruffians  were  who  carried 
thee  away  ?  ' ' 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  replied  she,  "  as  to  the  villain 
who  carried  me  off  I  am  yet  ignorant.     For  as 


276  XLbc  IDicar  of  Wal^eftelD 

my  mamma  and  I  were  walking  out,  he  came 
behind  us,  and,  almost  before  I  could  call  for 
help,  forced  me  into  the  post-chaise,  and  in  an 
instant  the  horses  drove  away.  I  met  several 
on  the  road,  to  whom  I  cried  out  for  assistance, 
but  they  disregarded  my  entreaties.  In  the 
meantime  the  ruffian  himself  used  every  art  to 
hinder  me  from  crying  out ;  he  flattered  and 
threatened  by  turns,  and  swore  that  if  I  contin- 
ued but  silent  he  intended  no  harm.  In  the 
meantime  I  had  broken  the  canvas  that  he  had 
drawn  up,  and  whom  should  I  perceive  at  some 
distance  but  your  old  friend  Mr.  Burchell, 
walking  along  with  his  usual  swiftness,  with 
the  great  stick  for  which  we  used  so  much  to 
ridicule  him.  As  soon  as  we  came  within  hear- 
ing, I  called  out  to  him  by  name  and  entreated 
his  help.  I  repeated  my  exclamation  several 
times,  upon  which,  with  a  very  loud  voice,  he 
bid  the  postilion  stop  ;  but  the  boy  took  no  no- 
tice, but  drove  on  with  still  greater  speed.  I 
now  thought  he  could  never  overtake  us,  when 
in  less  than  a  minute  I  saw  Mr.  Burchell  come 
running  up  by  the  side  of  the  horses,  and  with 
one  blow  knock  the  postilion  to  the  ground. 
The  horses,  when  he  was  fallen,  soon  stopped 
of  themselves,  and  the  ruffian  stepping  out 
with  oaths  and  menaces  drew  his  sword  and 
ordered  him  at  his  peril  to  retire  ;  but  Mr,  Bur- 


Zbc  Dicar  of  "JiillaheficlD  277 

chell,  running  up,  shivered  his  sworr".  to  pieces, 
and  then  pursued  him  for  near  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  ;  but  he  made  his  escape.  I  was  at  this 
time  come  out  myself,  willing  to  assist  my  de- 
liverer ;  but  he  soon  returned  to  me  iu  triumph. 
The  postilion,  who  was  recovered,  was  going  to 
make  his  escape  too  ;  but  Mr.  Burchell  ordered 
him  at  his  peril  to  mount  again  and  drive  back 
to  town.  Finding  it  impossible  to  resist,  he 
reluctantly  complied,  though  the  wound  he  had 
received  seemed  to  me  at  least  to  be  dangerous. 
He  continued  to  complain  of  the  pain  as  wc 
drove  along,  so  that  he  at  last  excited  Mr. 
Burchell's  compassion,  who  at  my  request  ex- 
changed him  for  another  at  an  inn  where  we 
called  on  our  return." 

"Welcome,  then,"  cried  I,  "  my  child,  and 
thou,  her  gallant  deliverer,  a  thousand  wel- 
comes !  Though  our  cheer  is  but  wretched,  yet 
our  hearts  are  ready  to  receive  you.  And  now, 
Mr.  Burchell,  as  you  have  delivered  my  girl,  if 
you  think  her  a  recompense  she  is  yours  ;  if 
you  can  stoop  to  an  alHance  with  a  family  sc 
poor  as  mine,  take  her,  obtain  her  consent,  as  I 
know  you  have  her  heart,  and  you  have  mine. 
And  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  give  you  no 
small  treasure  ;  she  has  been  celebrated  for 
beauty,  it  is  true,  but  that  is  not  my  meaning 
I  give  you  up  a  treasure  in  her  mind." 


278  ^be  Dicar  of  mahefielD 

"But  I  suppose,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Burchell, 
"that  you  are  apprised  of  my  circumstances, 
and  of  my  incapacity  to  support  her  as  she 
deserves?  " 

"If  your  present  objection,"  replied  I,  "be 
meant  as  an  evasion  of  my  offer,  I  desist  ;  but  I 
know  no  man  so  -worthy  to  deserve  her  as  you ; 
and  if  I  could  give  her  thousands,  and  thou- 
sands sought  her  from  me,  yet  my  honest,  brave 
Burchell  should  be  my  dearest  choice." 

To  all  this  his  silence  alone  seemed  to  give  a 
mortifying  refusal,  and,  without  the  least  reply 
to  my  offer,  he  demanded  if  we  could  not  be 
furnished  with  refreshments  from  the  next  inn  ; 
to  w'hich  being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he 
ordered  them  to  send  in  the  best  dinner  that 
could  be  provided  upon  such  short  notice.  He 
bespoke  also  a  dozen  of  their  best  wine,  and 
some  cordials  for  me ;  adding,  with  a  smile, 
that  he  would  stretch  a  little  for  once,  and 
though  in  a  prison,  asserted  he  was  never  better 
disposed  to  be  mern,-.  The  waiter  soon  made 
his  appearance  with  preparations  for  dinner,  a 
table  was  lent  us  by  the  gaoler,  who  seemed  re- 
markably assiduous,  the  w4ne  was  disposed  in 
order,  and  two  very'  well-dressed  dishes  were 
brought  in. 

My  daughter  had  not  yet  heard  of  her  poor 
brother's    melancholv    situation,    and    we    all 


Ube  IDicar  of  'QmakcfielC>  279 


seemed  unwilling  to  damp  her  cheerfulness  by 
the  relation.  But  it  was  in  vain  that  I  attc^mpt- 
ed  to  appear  cheerful  ;  the  circumstances  of  my 
unfortunate  son  broke  through  all  efforts  to 
dissemble  ;  so  that  I  was  at  last  obliged  to  damp 
our  mirth  by  relating  his  misfortunes,  and 
wishing  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  share 
with  us  in  this  little  interval  of  satisfaction. 
After  my  guests  were  recovered  from  the  con- 
sternation my  account  had  produced,  I  request- 
ed also  that  Mr.  Jenkinson,  a  fellow-prisoner, 
might  be  admitted,  and  the  gaoler  granted  my 
request  with  an  air  of  unusual  submission. 
The  clanking  of  my  son's  irons  was  no  sooner 
heard  along  the  passage,  than  his  sister  ran  im- 
patiently to  meet  him  ;  while  Mr.  Burchell,  in 
the  meantime,  asked  me  if  my  son's  name  were 
George  ;  to  which  replying  in  the  affirmative, 
he  still  continued  silent.  As  soon  as  my  boy 
entered  the  room,  I  could  perceive  he  regarded 
Mr.  Burchell  with  a  look  of  astonishment  and 
reverence. 

"Come  on,"  cried  I,  "my  son,  though  we 
are  fallen  very  low,  yet  Providence  has  been 
pleased  to  grant  us  some  small  relaxation 
from  pain.  Thy  sister  is  restored  to  us, 
and  there  is  her  deliverer ;  to  that  brave 
man  it  is  that  I  am  indebted  for  yet  having 
a    daughter ;     give   him,   mj'    boy,    the   hand 


28o  ^be  Dicar  of  mat^eficlD 

of  friendship  ;  he  deserves  our  warmest  grati- 
tude." 

My  son  seemed  all  this  while  regardless  of 
what  I  said,  and  still  continued  fixed  at  a  re- 
spectful distance. 

"  My  dear  brother,"  cried  his  sister,  "why 
don't  you  thank  my  good  deliverer?  The  brave 
should  ever  love  each  other." 

He  still  continued  his  silence  and  astonish- 
ment, till  our  guest  at  last  perceived  himself  to 
be  known,  and  assuming  all  his  native  dignity, 
desired  my  son  to  come  forward.  Never  before 
had  I  seen  any  thing  so  truly  majestic  as  the  air 
he  assumed  upon  this  occasion.  The  greatest 
object  in  the  universe,  says  a  certain  philoso- 
pher, is  a  good  man  struggling  with  adversity  ; 
yet  there  is  still  a  greater,  which  is  the  good 
man  that  comes  to  relieve  it.  After  he  had  re- 
garded my  son  for  some  time  with  a  superior 
air,  "  I  again  find,"  said  he,  "  unthinking  boy, 
that  the  same  crime "  But  here  he  was  in- 
terrupted b}'  one  of  the  gaoler's  servants,  who 
came  to  inform  us  that  a  person  of  distinction, 
who  had  driven  into  town  with  a  chariot  and 
several  attendants,  sent  his  respects  to  the  gen- 
tleman that  was  with  us,  and  begged  to  know 
when  he  should  think  proper  to  be  waited  upon. 
"  Bid  the  fellow  wait,"  cried  our  guest,  "  till  I 
shall  have  leisure  to  receive  him  ' '  ;  and  then 


^be  meat  of  TKflaKefielD  281 

turning  to  my  son,  "I  again  find,  sir,"  pro- 
ceeded he,  "that  you  are  guilty  of  the  same 
offence  for  which  you  once  had  my  reproof,  and 
for  which  the  law  is  now  preparing  its  justest 
punishments.  You  imagine,  perhaps,  that  a 
contempt  for  your  own  life  gives  you  a  right  to 
take  that  of  another  ;  but  where,  sir,  is  the  dif- 
ference between  a  duellist  who  hazards  a  life 
of  no  value,  and  the  murderer  who  acts  with 
greater  security  ?  Is  it  any  diminution  of  the 
gamester's  fraud  when  he  alleges  that  he  has 
staked  a  counter?  " 

"Alas,  sir,"  cried  I,  "whoever  you  are,  pity 
the  poor  misguided  creature  ;  for  what  he  has 
done  was  in  obedience  to  a  deluded  mother, 
who  in  the  bitterness  of  her  resentment  required 
him  upon  her  blessing  to  avenge  her  quarrel ! 
Here,  sir,  is  the  letter,  which  will  serve  to  con- 
vince you  of  her  imprudence  and  diminish  his 
guilt." 

He  took  the  letter  and  hastily  read  it  over. 
"This,"  says  he,  "  though  not  a  perfect  excuse, 
is  such  a  palliation  of  his  fault,  as  induces  me 
to  forgive  him.  And  now,  sir,"  continued  he, 
kindly  taking  my  son  by  the  hand,  "  I  see  you 
are  surprised  at  finding  me  here  ;  but  I  have 
often  visited  prisons  upon  occasions  less  inter- 
esting. I  am  now  come  to  see  justice  done  a 
worthy  man,  for  whom  I  have  the  most  sincere 


282  XLbc  Dicar  of  liClaF^efielD 

esteem.  I  have  long  been  a  disguised  spectator 
of  thy  father's  benevolence.  I  have  at  his  little 
dwelling  enjoN'ed  respect  uncontaminated  by- 
flattery,  and  have  received  that  happiness  that 
courts  could  not  give,  from  the  amusing  sim- 
plicity round  his  fireside.  My  nephew  has 
been  apprised  of  my  intentions  of  coming  here, 
and  I  find  is  arrived  ;  it  would  be  wronging  him 
and  you  to  condemn  him  without  examination. 
If  there  be  injury  there  shall  be  redress  ;  and 
this  I  may  say  without  boasting,  that  none 
have  ever  taxed  the  injustice  of  Sir  William 
Thornhill." 

We  now  found  the  personage  whom  we  had 
so  long  entertained  as  a  harmless,  amusing 
companion,  was  no  other  than  the  celebrated 
Sir  William  Thornhill,  to  whose  virtues  and 
singularities  scarcely  any  were  strangers.  The 
poor  Mr.  Burchell  was  in  reality  a  man  of  large 
fortune  and  great  interest,  to  whom  senates 
listened  with  applause,  and  whom  party  heard 
with  conviction  ;  who  was  the  friend  of  his 
countrv%  but  loyal  to  his  king.  My  poor  wife, 
recollecting  her  former  familiarity,  seemed  to 
shrink  with  apprehension  ;  but  Sophia,  who  a 
few  moments  before  thought  him  her  own,  now 
percei\4ng  the  immense  distance  to  which  he 
was  removed  by  fortune,  was  unable  to  conceal 
her  tears. 


^be  IDfcar  of  maftefielD  283 

"Ah,  sir,"  cried  my  wife,  with  a  piteous 
aspect,  "how  is  it  possible  that  I  can  ever  have 
your  forgiveness  !  The  shghts  you  received 
from  me  the  last  time  I  had  the  honor  of  seeing 
you  at  our  house,  and  the  jokes  which  I  auda- 
ciously threw  out ;  these  jokes,  sir,  I  fear  can 
never  be  forgiven." 

"  My  dear  good  lady,"  returned  he  with  a 
smile,  "  if  you  had  your  joke,  I  had  my  answer; 
I  '11  leave  it  to  all  the  company  if  mine  were 
not  as  good  as  yours.  To  say  the  truth,  I  know 
nobody  whom  I  am  disposed  to  be  angry  with 
at  present,  but  the  fellow  who  so  frightened  my 
little  girl  here.  I  had  not  even  time  to  examine 
the  rascal's  person  so  as  to  describe  him  in  an 
advertisement.  Can  you  tell  me,  Sophia,  my 
dear,  whether  you  should  know  him  again?" 

"Indeed,  sir,"  replied  she,  "I  can't  be  posi- 
tive ;  yet  now  I  recollect  he  had  a  large  mark 
over  one  of  his  eyebrows." — "I  ask  pardon, 
madam,"  interrupted  Jeukiuson,  who  was  by 
"but  be  so  good  as  to  inform  me  if  the  fellow 
wore  his  own  red  hair?" — "Yes,  I  think  so," 
cried  Sophia. — "And  did  your  honor,"  con- 
tinued he,  turning  to  Sir  William,  "observe 
the  length  of  his  legs?  " — "  I  can't  be  sure  of 
their  length,"  cried  the  baronet,  "  but  I  am  con- 
vinced of  their  swiftness  ;  for  he  outran  me, 
which  is  what  I  thought  few  men  in  the  king- 


284  XTbc  Dicar  of  TimaF^efielO 

(lorn  could  have  done." — "  Please  your  honor," 
cried  Jenkinson,  "I  know  the  man;  it  is  cer- 
tainly the  same  ;  the  best  runner  in  England  : 
he  has  beaten  Pinwire  of  Newcastle ;  Timothy 
Baxter  is  his  name.  I  know  him  perfectly,  and 
the  very  place  of  his  retreat  this  moment.  If 
j^our  honor  will  bid  Mr.  Gaoler  let  two  of  his 
men  go  with  me,  I  '11  engage  to  produce  him 
to  you  in  an  hour  at  farthest. ' '  Upon  this  the 
gaoler  was  called,  who  instantly  appearing.  Sir 
"William  demanded  if  he  knew  him.  "Yes, 
please  your  honor,"  replied  the  gaoler,  "I 
know  Sir  William  Thornhill  well,  and  every- 
body that  knows  any  thing  of  him  will  desire 
to  know  more  of  him." — "  Well,  then,  said  the 
baronet,  "my  request  is,  that  you  will  permit 
this  man  and  two  of  your  ser^-ants  to  go  upon  a 
message  by  my  authority,  and  as  I  am  in  the 
commission  of  the  peace,  I  undertake  to  secure 
you." — "Your  promise  is  sufficient,"  replied 
the  other,  "  and  you  may  at  a  minute's  warning 
send  them  over  England  whenever  your  honor 
thinks  fit." 

In  pursuance  of  the  gaoler's  compliance, 
Jenkinson  was  despatched  in  search  of  Timo- 
thy Baxter,  while  we  were  amused  at  the 
assiduity  of  our  youngest  boy,  Bill,  who  had 
just  come  in  and  climbed  up  Sir  William's  neck 
in  order  to  kiss  him.     His  mother  was  imme- 


^be  Dicar  of  makeffelD  285 

diately  going  to  chastise  his  familiarity,  but  the 
worthy  man  prevented  her ;  and  taking  the 
child,  all  ragged  as  he  was,  upon  his  knee, 
"What,  Bill,  you  chubby  rogue,"  cried  he,  "do 
you  remember  your  old  friend  Burchell  ?  and 
Dick,  too,  my  honest  veteran,  are  you  here? 
you  shall  find  I  have  not  forgot  you."  So 
saying,  he  gave  each  a  large  piece  of  ginger- 
bread, which  the  poor  fellows  ate  very  heartily, 
as  they  had  got  that  morning  but  a  very  scanty 
breakfast. 

We  now  sat  down  to  dinner,  which  was  almost 
cold  ;  but  previously,  my  arm  continuing  pain- 
ful. Sir  William  wrote  a  prescription,  for  he  had 
made  the  study  of  physic  his  amusement,  and 
was  more  than  moderately  skilled  in  the  profes- 
sion ;  this  being  sent  to  an  apothecary  who 
Uved  in  the  place,  my  arm  was  dressed,  and  I 
found  almost  instantaneous  relief.  We  were 
waited  upon  at  dinner  by  the  gaoler  himself, 
who  was  willing  to  do  our  guest  all  the  honor 
in  his  power.  But  before  we  had  well  dined, 
another  message  was  brought  from  his  nephew, 
desiring  permission  to  appear,  in  order  to  vin- 
dicate his  innocence  and  honor  ;  with  which 
request  the  baronet  complied,  and  desired  Mr. 
Thornhill  to  be  introduced. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Former   Benevolence    Now    Repaid    with    Unexpected 
Interest. 


MR.  THORNHILL  made  his  appearance  with 
a  smile,  which  he  seldom  wanted,  and 
was  going  to  embrace  his  uncle,  which  the  other 
repulsed  with  an  air  of  disdain.  "  No  fawning, 
sir,  at  present, ' '  cried  the  baronet,  with  a  look 
of  severity  ;  "the  only  way  to  my  heart  is  by 
the  road  of  honor  ;  but  here  I  only  see  compli- 
cated instances  of  falsehood,  cowardice,  and 
oppression.  How  is  it,  sir,  that  this  poor  man, 
for  whom  I  know  you  professed  a  friendship,  is 
used  thus  hardly  ?  His  daughter  vilely  seduced 
as  a  recompense  for  his  hospitality,  and  he 
himself  thrown  into  prison,  perhaps  but  for 
resenting  the  insult?     His  son,  too,  whom  you 

feared  to  face  as  a  man " 

'  Is  it  possible,  sir,"  interrupted  his  nephew 
"that  my  uncle  should  object  that  as  a  crime, 


^be  IDicar  of  mal^etielD  287 


which  his  repeated  instructions  alone  have  per- 
suaded me  to  avoid  ?  " 

"  Your  rebuke, "  cried  Sir  William  "is  just; 
you  have  acted  in  this  instance  prudently  and 
well,  though  not  quite  as  your  father  would 
have  done.  My  brother,  indeed,  was  the  soul 
of  honor  ;  but  thou — yes,  you  have  acted  in 
this  instance  perfectly  right,  and  it  has  my 
warmest  approbation." 

"And  I  hope,"  said  his  nephew,  "  that  the 
rest  of  my  conduct  will  not  be  found  to  deserve 
censure.  I  appeared,  sir,  with  this  gentleman's 
daughter  at  some  places  of  public  amusement ; 
thus  what  was  levity,  scandal  called  by  a  harsher 
name,  and  it  was  reported  that  I  had  debauched 
her.  I  waited  on  her  father  in  person,  willing 
to  clear  the  thing  to  his  satisfaction,  and  he 
received  me  only  with  insult  and  abuse.  As 
for  the  rest,  with  regard  to  his  being  here,  my 
attorney  and  steward  can  best  inform  you,  as  I 
commit  the  management  of  business  entirely  to 
them.  If  he  has  contracted  debts,  and  is  un- 
willing or  even  unable  to  pay  them,  it  is  their 
business  to  proceed  in  this  manner  ;  and  I  see 
no  hardship  or  injustice  in  pursuing  the  most 
legal  means  of  redress." 

"  If  this,"  cried  Sir  William,  "  be  as  you  have 
stated,  there  is  nothing  unpardonable  in  your 
offence  ;  and  though  your  conduct  might  have 


288  ^be  Dlcar  of  TlClaftettelC) 

been  more  generous  in  not  suffering  this  gen- 
tleman to  be  oppressed  by  subordinate  tyrann}-, 
yet  it  has  been  at  least  equitable." 

"  He  cannot  contradict  a  single  particular," 
replied  the  'Squire  :  "I  defy  him  to  do  so  ; 
and  several  of  my  servants  are  ready  to  attest 
what  I  say.  Thus,  sir,"  continued  he,  finding 
that  I  was  silent,  for  in  fact  I  could  not  contra- 
dict him  ;  "  thus,  sir,  my  own  innocence  is  vin- 
dicated ;  but  though  at  your  entreaty  I  am 
ready  to  forgive  this  gentleman  every  other 
offence,  yet  his  attempts  to  lessen  me  in  your 
esteem  excite  a  resentment  that  I  cannot  govern. 
And  this,  too,  at  a  time  when  his  son  was  actu- 
ally preparing  to  take  away  my  life  ;  this,  I  say, 
was  such  guilt,  that  I  am  determined  to  let  the 
law  take  its  course.  I  have  here  the  challenge 
that  was  sent  me,  and  two  witnesses  to  prove 
it :  one  of  my  servants  has  been  wounded  dan- 
gerously ;  and  even  though  my  uncle  himself 
should  dissuade  me,  which  I  know  he  will  not, 
yet  I  will  see  public  justice  done,  and  he  shall 
suffer  for  it. ' ' 

"  Thou  monster  !  "  cried  my  wife,  "  hast  thou 
not  had  vengeance  enough  already,  but  must 
my  poor  boy  feel  thy  cruelty  ?  I  hope  that 
good  Sir  William  will  protect  us,  for  my  son  is 
as  innocent  as  a  child  ;  I  am  sure  he  is,  and 
never  did  harm  to  man," 


XLbc  IDicar  ot  MalietielO  289 

"Madam,"  replied  the  good  man,  "your 
wishes  for  his  safety  are  not  greater  than  mine  ; 
but  I  am  sorry  to  find  his  guilt  too  plain  ;  and 
if  my  nephew  persists "  But  the  appear- 
ance of  Jenkinson  and  the  gaoler's  two  servants 
now  called  off  our  attention,  who  entered  haul- 
ing in  a  tall  man  very  genteelly  dressed,  and 
answering  the  description  already  given  of  the 
ruffian  who  had  carried  off  my  daughter. 
"  Here,"  cried  Jenkinson,  pulling  him  in, 
"here  we  have  him  ;  and  if  ever  there  was  a 
candidate  for  Tyburn  this  is  one  !  " 

The  moment  Mr.  Thornhill  perceived  the 
prisoner,  and  Jenkinson  who  had  him  in  cus- 
tody, he  seemed  to  shrink  back  with  terror. 
His  face  became  pale  with  conscious  guilt,  and 
he  would  have  withdrawn  ;  but  Jenkinson,  who 
perceived  his  design,  stopped>  him.  "What, 
'Squire,"  cried  he,  "are  you  ashamed  of  your 
two  old  acquaintances,  Jenkinson  and  Baxter  ? 
But  this  is  the  way  that  all  great  men  forget  their 
friends,  though  I  am  resolved  we  will  not  forget 
you.  Our  prisoner,  please  your  honor,"  con- 
tinued he,  turning  to  vSir  William,  "has  already 
confessed  all.  This  is  the  gentleman  reported 
to  be  so  dangerously  wounded  ;  he  declares 
that  it  was  Mr.  Thornhill  who  first  put  him  upon 
this  affair  ;  that  he  gave  him  the  clothes  he 
now  wears,  to   appear  like   a  gentleman,  and 


290  Zbc  meat  of  makefielD 

furnished  him  with  the  post-chaise.  The  plan 
was  laid  between  them,  that  he  should  carry  oflF 
the  young  lady  to  a  place  of  safety,  and  that 
there  he  should  threaten  and  terrify  her ;  but 
Mr.  Thornhill  was  to  come  in  in  the  meantime, 
as  if  by  accident,  to  her  rescue,  and  that  they 
should  fight  awhile,  and  then  he  was  to  run  off, 
by  which  means  Mr.  Thornhill  would  have 
the  better  opportunity  of  gaining  her  affec- 
tions himself  under  the  character  of  her  de- 
fender." 

Sir  William  remembered  the  coat  to  have 
been  worn  by  his  nephew,  and  all  the  rest  the 
prisoner  himself  confirmed  by  a  more  circum- 
stantial account,  concluding  that  Mr.  Thornhill 
had  often  declared  to'  him  that  he  was  in  love 
with  both  sisters  at  the  same  time. 

"  Heavens  !  '>  cried  Sir  William,  "  what  a 
viper  have  I  been  fostering  in  my  bosom  !  And 
so  fond  of  public  justice,  too,  as  he  seemed  to 
be  !  But  he  shall  have  it.  Secure  him,  Mr. 
Gaoler — yet  hold,  I  fear  there  is  not  legal  evi- 
dence to  detain  him." 

Upon  this,  Mr.  Thornhill,  with  the  utmost 
humility,  entreated  that  two  such  abandoned 
wretches  might  not  be  admitted  as  evidence 
against  him,  but  that  his  servants  should  be 
examined. — "  Your  servants  !  "  replied  Sir  Will- 
iam; "  call  them  yours  no  longer;  but,  come, 


Zbc  meat  ot  Wakefield  291 

let  us  hear  what  those  fellows  have  to  say  ;  let 
his  butler  be  called." 

When  the  butler  was  introduced,  he  soon  per- 
ceived by  his  former  master's  looks  that  all  his 
power  was  now  over.  "Tell  me,"  cried  Sir 
William,  sternly,  ' '  have  you  ever  seen  your 
master  and  that  fellow  dressed  up  in  his  clothes 
in  company  together?" — "Yes,  please  your 
honor,"  cried  the  butler,  "a  thousand  times; 
he  was  the  man  that  always  brought  him 
his  ladies." — "  How,"  interrupted  young  Mr. 
Thornhill,  "this  to  my  face  !  " — "  Yes,"  replied 
the  butler,  "or  to  any  man's  face.  To  tell  you 
a  truth,  Master  Thornhill,  I  never  either  loved 
you  or  liked  you,  and  I  don't  caie  if  I  tell  you 
now  a  pieceof  my  mind." — "  Now,  then,"  cried 
Jenkinson,  "  tell  his  honor  whether  you  know 
any  thing  of  me." — "I  can't  sa'y,"  replied  the 
butler,  "that  I  know  much  good  of  you.  The 
night  that  gentleman's  daughter  was  deluded  to 
our  house  3-ou  were  one  of  them." — "  So,  then," 
cried  Sir  W^illiam,  "  I  find  you  have  brought  a 
very  fine  witness  to  prove  your  innocence ; 
thou  stain  to  humanity  !  to  associate  with  such 
wretches  !  But  "  (continuing  his  examination), 
"you  tell  me,  Mr.  Butler,  that  this  was  the  per- 
son who  brought  him  this  old  gentleman's 
daughter." — "No,  please  your  honor,"  replied 
the  butler,  "  he  did  not  bring  her,  for  the  'Squire 


292  ^be  l^icar  of  MakefielC) 

himself  undertook  that  business  ;  but  he  brought 
the  priest  that  pretended  to  marr}'  them." — **  It 
is  but  too  true,"  cried  Jenkinson,  "  I  can't  deny 
it ;  that  was  the  employment  assigned  me,  and 
I  confess  it  to  my  confusion." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  baronet, 
"how  every  new  discovery  of  his  villainy 
alarms  me  !  All  his  guilt  is  now  too  plain,  and 
I  find  his  prosecution  was  dictated  by  tyranny, 
cowardice,  and  revenge.  At  my  request,  Mr. 
Gaoler,  set  this  young  oflScer,  now  your  prisoner, 
free,  and  trust  to  me  for  the  consequences.  I  '11 
make  it  my  business  to  set  the  affair  in  a  proper 
light  to  my  friend  the  magistrate  who  has  com- 
mitted him.  But  where  is  the  unfortunate  lady 
herself  ?  Let  her  appear  to  confront  this  wretch ! 
I  long  to  know  by  what  arts  he  has  seduced 
her.     Intreat  her  to  come  in.     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  sir,"  said  I,"  "  that  question  stings  me 
to  the  heart ;  I  was  once,  indeed,  happy  in  a 
daughter,  but  her  miseries "  Another  in- 
terruption here  prevented  me  ;  for  who  should 
make  her  appearance  but  Miss  Arabella  Wil- 
mot,  who  vas  next  da^'  to  have  been  married  to 
Mr.  Thomhill.  Nothing  could  equal  her  sur- 
prise at  seeing  Sir  William  and  his  nephew  here 
before  her  ;  for  her  arrival  was  quite  accidental. 
It  happened  that  she  and  the  old  gentleman, 
her  father,  were  passing  through  the  town  on 


Zbc  IDicar  ot  makefielt)  293 

their  way  to  her  aunt's,  who  had  insisted  that 
her  nuptials  with  Mr,  Thornhill  should  be  con- 
summated at  her  house  ;  but  stopping  for 
refreshment,  they  put  up  at  an  inn  at  the  other 
end  of  the  town.  It  was  there  from  the  win  • 
dow  that  the  young  lady  happened  to  observe 
one  of  my  little  boys  playing  in  the  street,  and 
instantly  sending  a  footman  to  bring  the  child 
to  her,  she  learned  from  him  some  account  of 
our  misfortunes  ;  but  was  still  kept  ignorant  of 
young  Mr.  Thornhill 's  being  the  cause.  Though 
her  father  made  several  remonstrances  on  the 
impropriety  of  her  going  to  a  prison  to  visit  us, 
yet  they  were  ineffectual.  She  desired  the  child 
to  conduct  her,  which  he  did,  and  it  was  thus 
that  she  surprised  us  at  a  juncture  so  unex- 
pected. 

Nor  can  I  go  on,  without  a  reflection  upon  those 
accidental  meetings,  which,  though  they  happen 
every  day,  seldom  excite  our  surprise  but  upon 
some  extraordinary  occasion.  To  what  a  for- 
tuitous occurrence  do  we  not  owe  every  pleasure 
and  convenience  of  our  lives.  How  many  seem- 
ing accidents  must  unite  before  we  can  be 
clothed  or  fed.  The  peasant  must  be  disposed 
to  labor,  the  shower  must  fall,  the  wind  fill  the 
merchant's  sail,  or  numbers  must  want  the 
usual  supply. 

We  all  continued  silent  for  some  moments, 


294  ^be  Dfcar  of  'CClal?efiel& 

while  my  cliarming  pupil,  which  was  the  name 
I  generally  gave  this  young  lady,  united  in  her 
looks  compassion  and  astonishment,  which  gave 
new  finishings  to  her  beauty.  "Indeed,  my 
dear  Mr.  Thornhill,"  cried  she  to  the  'Squire, 
who,  she  supposed,  was  come  here  to  succor 
and  not  to  oppress  us,  "I  take  it  a  little  un- 
kindly that  you  should  come  here  without  me, 
or  never  inform  me  of  the  situation  of  a  family 
so  dear  to  us  both.  You  know  I  should  take 
as  much  pleasure  in  contributing  to  the  relief 
of  my  reverend  old  master  here,  whom  I  shall 
ever  esteem,  as  you  can.  But  I  find  that,  like 
your  uncle,  you  take  a  pleasure  in  doing  good 
in  secret." 

"He  find  pleasure  in  doing  good!"  cried 
Sir  William,  interrupting  her.  "  No,  my  dear, 
his  pleasures  are  as  base  as  he  is.  You  see  in 
him,  madam,  as  complete  a  villain  as  ever  dis- 
graced humanity.  A  wretch  who,  after  ha\'ing 
deluded  this  poor  man's  daughter,  after  plotting 
against  the  innocence  of  her  sister,  has  thrown 
the  father  into  prison,  and  the  eldest  son  into 
fetters,  because  he  had  the  courage  to  face  her 
betrayer.  And  give  me  leave,  madam,  now  to 
congratulate  you  upon  an  escape  from  the  em- 
braces of  such  a  monster. ' ' 

"  O  goodness  !  "  cried  the  lovely  girl,  "how 
have  I  been  deceived  !     Mr.  Thornhill  informed 


trbe  XDicav  ot  Mal^cfielD  295 

me  for  certain  that  this  gentleman's  eldest  son, 
Captain  Primrose,  was  gone  off  to  America 
with  his  new-married  lady." 

"My  sweetest  miss,"  cried  my  wife,  "he 
has  told  you  nothing  but  falsehoods.  My  son 
George  never  left  the  kingdom,  nor  ever  was 
married.  Though  you  have  forsaken  him,  he 
has  always  loved  you  too  well  to  think  of  any- 
body else ;  and  I  have  heard  him  say  he  would  die 
a  bachelor  for  your  sake. ' '  She  then  proceeded 
to  expatiate  upon  the  sincerity  of  her  son's 
passion  ;  she  set  his  duel  with  Mr.  Thornhill  in 
its  proper  light ;  from  thence  she  made  a  rapid 
digression  to  the  'Squire's  debaucheries,  his 
pretended  marriages,  and  ended  with  a  most 
insulting  picture  of  his  cowardice. 

"  Good  heaven  !  "  cried  Miss  Wilmot,  "how 
very  near  have  I  been  to  the  brink  of  ruin  ! 
But  how  great  is  my  pleasure  to  have  escaped 
it !  Ten  thousand  falsehoods  has  this  gentle- 
man told  me  !  He  had  at  last  art  enough  to 
persuade  me  that  my  promise  to  the  only  man 
I  esteemed  was  no  longer  binding,  since  he  had 
been  unfaithful.  By  his  falsehood  I  was  taught 
to  detest  one  equally  brave  and  generous  !  " 

But  by  this  time  my  son  was  freed  from  the 
incumbrances  of  justice,  as  the  person  sup- 
posed to  be  wounded  was  detected  to  be  an 
impostor.     Mr.  Jenkinson  also,  who  had  acted 


296  tXbe  IDlcar  ot  iraia?icfie(t) 

as  his  valet-de-chambre,  had  dressed  up  his  hair, 
and  furnished  him  with  whatever  was  necessary' 
to  make  a  genteel  appearance.  He  now,  there- 
fore, entered,  handsomely  dressed  in  his  regi- 
mentals ;  and  without  vanity  (for  I  am  above 
it),  he  appeared  as  handsome  a  fellow  as  ever 
wore  a  military  dress.  As  he  entered,  he  made 
Miss  Wilmot  a  modest  and  distant  bow,  for  he 
was  not  as  yet  acquainted  with  the  change 
which  the  eloquence  of  his  mother  had  wrought 
in  his  favor.  But  no  decorums  could  restrain 
the  impatience  of  his  blushing  mistress  to  be 
forgiven.  Her  tears,  her  looks,  all  contributed 
to  discover  the  real  sensations  of  her  heart,  for 
ha\ang  forgotten  her  former  promise,  and  hav- 
ing suffered  herself  to  be  deluded  by  an  im- 
postor. My  son  appeared  amazed  at  her  con- 
descension, and  could  scarcel)^  believe  it  real. 
"  Sure,  madam,"  cried  he,  "this  is  but  delusion  ! 
I  can  never  have  merited  this  !  To  be  blessed 
thus  is  to  be  too  happy." — "  No,  sir,"  replied 
she,  "I  have  been  deceived,  basely  deceived, 
else  nothing  could  ever  have  made  me  unjust 
to  my  promise.  You  know  my  friendship,  you 
have  long  known  it  ;  but  forget  what  I  have 
done,  and  as  you  once  had  my  warmest  vows 
of  constancy,  you  shall  now  have  them  re- 
peated ;  and  be  assured  that  if  Arabella  cannot 
be  yours,  she  shall  never  be  another's." — "And 


tTbe  li)icar  of  MaftefielO  297 

no  other's  you  shall  be,"  cried  Sir  William, 
"  if  I  have  any  influence  Vs^ith  your  father." 

This  hint  was  sufficient  for  my  son  Moses, 
who  immediately  flew  to  the  inn  where  the  old 
gentleman  was,  to  inform  him  of  every  circum- 
stance that  had  happened.  But  in  the  mean- 
time, the  'Squire,  perceiving  that  he  was  on 
every  side  undone,  now  finding  that  no  hopes 
were  left  from  flattery  or  dissimulation,  con- 
cluded that  his  wisest  way  would  be  to  turn  and 
face  his  pursuers.  Thus  laying  aside  all  shame, 
he  appeared  the  open,  hardy  villain.  "I  find 
then,"  cried  he,  "that  I  am  to  expect  no  jus- 
tice here  ;  but  I  am  resolved  it  shall  be  done  me. 
You  shall  know,  sir,"  turning  to  Sir  William, 
*'  I  am  no  longer  a  poor  dependant  upon  your 
favors.  I  scorn  them.  Nothing  can  keep  Miss 
Wilmot's  fortune  from  me,  which,  I  thank  her 
father's  assiduity,  is  pretty  large.  The  articles 
and  a  bond  for  her  fortune  are  signed,  and  safe 
in  my  possession.  It  was  her  fortune,  not  her 
person,  that  induced  me  to  wish  for  this  match  ; 
and  possessed  of  the  one,  let  who  will  take  the 
other. ' ' 

This  was  an  alarming  blow  ;  Sir  William  was 
sensible  of  the  justice  of  his  claims,  for  he  had 
been  instrumental  in  drawing  up  the  marriage- 
articles  himself  Miss  Wilmot,  therefore,  per- 
ceiving her  fortune  was  irretrievably  lost,  turn- 


XLbc  Dfcar  of  makefielD 


ing  to  my  son,  asked  if  the  loss  of  fortune  could 
lessen  her  value  to  him.  "Though  fortune," 
said  she,  "is  out  of  my  power,  at  least  I  have 
my  hand  to  give." 

"And  that,  madam,"  cried  her  real  lover, 
"  was,  indeed,  all  that  you  ever  had  to  give  ;  at 
least  all  that  I  ever  thought  worth  the  accept- 
ance. And  I  now  protest,  my  Arabella,  by  all 
that 's  happy,  your  want  of  fortune  this  moment 
increases  my  pleasure,  as  it  serves  to  convince 
my  sweet  girl  of  my  sincerity." 

Mr.  Wilmot  now  entering,  he  seemed  not  a 
little  pleased  at  the  danger  his  daughter  had 
just  escaped,  and  readily  consented  to  a  dissolu- 
tion of  the  match.  But  finding  that  her  for- 
tune, which  was  secured  to  Mr.  Thomhill  by 
bond,  would  not  be  given  up,  nothing  could 
exceed  his  disappointment.  He  now  saw  that 
his  money  must  all  go  to  enrich  one  who  had 
no  fortune  of  his  own.  He  could  bear  his  being 
a  rascal  ;  but  to  want  an  equivalent  to  his 
daughter's  fortune  was  wormwood.  He  sat, 
therefore,  for  some  minutes,  employed  in  the 
most  mortifying  speculations,  till  Sir  William 
attempted  to  lessen  his  anxiety.  "  I  must  con- 
fess, sir,"  cried  he,  "that  your  present  disap- 
pointment does  not  entirely  displease  me. 
Your  immoderate  passion  for  wealth  is  now 
justly  punished.     But  though  the  young  lady 


trbe  IDicar  of  maF?efielD  299 

cannot  be  rich,  she  has  still  a  sufficient  compe- 
tence to  give  content.  Here  you  see  an  honest 
young  soldier,  who  is  willing  to  take  her  with- 
out fortune  ;  they  have  long  loved  each  other  ; 
and  for  the  friendship  I  bear  his  father,  my  in- 
terest shall  not  be  wanting  in  his  promotion. 
Iveave,  then,  that  ambition  which  disappoints 
you,  and  for  once  admit  that  happiness  which 
courts  your  acceptance." 

"Sir  William,"  replied  the  old  gentleman, 
"be  assured  I  never  yet  forced  her  inclinations, 
nor  will  I  now.  If  she  still  continues  to  love 
this  young  gentleman,  let  her  have  him  with 
all  my  heart.  There  is  still,  thank  Heaven ) 
some  fortune  left,  and  your  promise  will  mak«» 
it  something  more.  Only  let  my  old  frienc^ 
here  (meaning  me)  give  me  a  promise  of  set- 
tling six  thousands  pounds  upon  my  girl,  if  evei' 
he  should  come  to  his  fortune,  and  I  am  ready 
this  night  to  be  the  first  to  join  them  together." 

As  it  now  remained  with  me  to  make  the 
young  couple  happy,  I  readily  gave  a  promise 
of  making  the  settlement  he  required,  which, 
to  one  who  had  such  little  expectations  as  I,  was 
no  great  favor.  We  had  now,  therefore,  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  them  fly  into  each  other's 
arms  in  a  transport.  "After  all  my  misfor- 
tunes," cried  my  son  George,  "to  be  thus  re- 
warded !     Sure  this  is  more  than  I  could  ever 


300  tTbe  IDicar  of  'Makefield 

have  presumed  to  hope  for.  To  be  possessed  of 
all  that  's  good,  and  after  such  an  interval  ol 
pain  !  My  warmest  wishes  could  never  rise  so 
high!" 

"  Yes,  my  George,"  returned  his  lovely  bride, 
"now  let  the  wretch  take  my  fortune;  since 
you  are  happ};-  without  it,  so  am  I.  O  what  an 
exchange  have  I  made,  from  the  basest  of  men 
to  the  dearest,  best !  Let  him  enjo}'  our  fortune, 
I  now  can  be  happy  even  in  indigence." — "  And 
I  promise  you,"  cried  the  'Squire,  with  a  mali- 
cious grin,  "that  I  shall  be  very  happy  with 
what  you  despise." — "Hold,  hold,  sir!"  cried 
Jenkinson,  "  there  are  two  words  to  that  bar- 
gain. As  for  that  lady's  fortune,  sir,  you  shall 
never  touch  a  single  stiver  of  it.  Pray,  your 
honor,"  continued  he  to  Sir  William,  "  can  the 
'Squire  have  this  lady's  fortune  if  he  be  married 
to  another?" — "How  can  you  make  such  a 
simple  demand?"  replied  the  baronet;  "un- 
doubtedly he  cannot." — "I  am  sorry  for  that," 
cried  Jenkinson  ;  "  for  as  this  gentleman  and  I 
have  been  old  fellow-sporters,  I  have  a  friend- 
ship for  him.  But  I  must  declare,  well  as  I 
love  him,  that  his  contract  is  not  worth  a  tobac- 
co-stopper, for  he  is  married  already.'' — "You 
lie,  like  a  rascal,"  returned  the  'Squire,  who 
seemed  roused  by  this  insult;  "I  never  was 
legally  married  to  any  woman." 


(Tbe  Dicar  of  TKIlahetlelD  301 

''Indeed,  begging  your  honor's  pardon,"  re- 
plied the  other,  ''  you  were  ;  and  I  hope  you 
will  show  a  proper  return  of  friendship  to  your 
own  honest  Jenkinson,  who  brings  you  a  wife, 
and  if  the  company  restrain  their  curiosity  a 
few  minutes,  they  shall  see  her."  So  saying, 
he  went  off  with  his  usual  celerity,  and  left  us 
all  unable  to  form  any  probable  conjecture  as 
to  his  designs.  "Ay,  let  him  go,"  cried  the 
'Squire  ;  "  whatever  else  I  may  have  done,  I 
defy  him  there.  I  am  too  old  now  to  be  fright- 
ened with  squibs." 

"lam  surprised,"  said  the  baronet;  "what 
can  the  fellow  intend  by  this  ?  Some  low  piece 
of  humor,  I  suppose  !  " — "  Perhaps,  sir,"  replied 
I,  "he  may  have  a  more  serious  meaning.  For 
when  we  reflect  on  the  various  schemes  this 
gentleman  has  laid  to  seduce  innocence,  per- 
haps some  one  more  artful  than  the  rest  has 
been  found  able  to  deceive  him.  When  we 
consider  what  numbers  he  has  ruined,  how 
many  parents  now  feel  with  anguish  the  infamy 
and  the  contamination  which  he  has  brought 
into  their  families,  it  would  not  surprise  me  if 
some  one  of  them — Amazement !  Do  I  see  my 
lost  daughter !  Do  I  hold  her  !  It  is,  it  is,  my 
life,  my  happiness  !  I  thought  thee  lost,  my 
Olivia,  yet  still  I  hold  thee,  and  still  thou  shalt 
live  to  bless  me. ' '     The  warmest  transports  of 


302  trbe  Dicav  of  TlClalfteficlt) 

the  fondest  lover  were  not  greater  than  mine 
when  I  saw  him  introduce  my  child,  and  held 
my  daughter  in  my  arms,  whose  silence  only 
spoke  her  raptures. 

"And  art  thou  returned  to  me,  my  darling," 
cried  I,  "to  be  my  comfort  in  age!  " — "That 
she  is,"  cried  Jenkinson,  "and  make  much  of 
her,  for  she  is  your  own  honorable  child,  and  as 
honest  a  woman  as  any  in  the  whole  room,  let 
the  other  be  who  she  will.  And  as  for  you, 
'Squire,  as  sure  as  you  stand  there,  this  young 
lady  is  your  lawful  wedded  wife.  And  to  con- 
vince you  that  I  speak  nothing  but  truth,  here 
is  the  license  by  which  you  were  married  to- 
gether." So  saying,  he  put  the  license  into  the 
baronet's  hand,  who  read  it,  and  found  it  per- 
fect in  every  respect.  "  And  now,  gentlemen," 
continued  he,  "I  find  you  are  surprised  at  all 
this  ;  but  a  few  words  will  explain  the  difficulty. 
That  there  'Squire  of  renown,  for  whom  I  have 
a  great  friendship,  but  that 's  between  ourselves, 
has  often  employed  me  in  doing  odd  little 
things  for  him.  Among  the  rest,  he  com- 
missioned me  to  procure  him  a  false  license  and 
a  false  priest,  in  order  to  deceive  this  young 
lady.  But,  as  I  was  very  much  his  friend,  what 
did  I  do  but  went  and  got  a  true  license  and  a 
true  priest,  and  married  them  both  as  fast  as 
the  cloth  could  make  them.     Perhaps,  jou  '11 


trbe  Dicar  of  maftefiel^ 


303 


think  it  was  generosity  that  made  me  do  all 
this.  But  no.  To  my  shame  I  confess  it,  my 
only  design  was  to  keep  the  license  and  let  the 
'Squire  know  that  I  could  prove  it  upon  him 
whenever  I  thought  proper,  and  so  make  him 


CONVICTION  OF  THORNHILL. 


come  down  whenever  I  wanted  money."  A 
burst  of  pleasure  now  seemed  to  fill  the  whole 
apartment ;  our  joy  reached  even  to  the  com- 
mon room,  where  the  prisoners  themselves 
sympathized, 


304  Zhc  tDicar  of  mafteflclD 

And  shook  their  chains 

In  transport  and  rude  harmony. 

Happiness  was  expanded  upon  every  face, 
and  even  Olivia's  cheek  seemed  flushed  with 
pleasure.  To  be  thus  restored  to  reputation,  to 
friends  and  fortune  at  once,  was  a  rapture  suffi- 
cient to  stop  the  progress  of  decay  and  restore 
former  health  and  vivacity.  But,  perhaps, 
among  all  there  was  not  one  who  felt  sincerer 
pleasure  than  I.  Still  holding  the  dear-loved 
child  in  my  arms,  I  asked  my  heart  if  these 
transports  were  not  delusion.  "  How  could 
you,"  cried  I,  turning  to  Mr.  Jenkinson,  "how 
could  you  add  to  my  miseries  by  the  story  of 
her  death  ?  But  it  matters  not ;  my  pleasure  at 
finding  her  again  is  more  than  a  recompense 
for  the  pain." 

"As  to  your  question,"  replied  Jenkinson, 
"  that  is  easily  answered.  I  thought  the  only 
probable  means  of  freeing  you  from  prison  was 
by  submitting  to  the  'Squire,  and  consenting  to 
his  marriage  with  the  other  young  lady.  But 
these  you  had  vowed  never  to  grant  while  your 
daughter  \^as  living;  there  was  therefore  no 
other  method  to  bring  things  to  bear  but  by 
persuading  you  that  she  was  dead.  I  prevailed 
on  your  wife  to  join  in  the  deceit,  and  we  have 
not  had  a  fit  opportunity  of  undeceiving  you 
till  now." 


^be  Dicar  ot  WaKefielD  305 

In  the  whole  assembly  now  there  only  ap- 
peared two  faces  that  did  not  glow  with  trans- 
port. Mr.  Thomhill's  assurance  had  entirely 
forsaken  him  :  he  now  saw  the  gulf  of  infamy 
and  want  before  him,  and  trembled  to  take  the 
plunge.  He  therefore  fell  on  his  knees  before 
his  uncle,  and  in  a  voice  of  piercing  misery  im- 
plored compassion.  Sir  William  was  going  to 
spurn  him  away,  but  at  my  request  he  raised 
him,  and,  after  pausing  a  few  moments,  "  Thy 
vices,  crimes,  and  ingratitude,"  cried  he,  "de- 
serve no  tenderness  ;  yet  thou  shalt  not  be  en- 
tirely forsaken,  a  bare  competence  shall  be 
supplied  to  support  the  wants  of  life,  but  not  its 
follies.  This  young  lady,  thy  wife,  shall  be  put 
in  possession  of  a  third  part  of  that  fortune 
which  once  was  thine,  and  from  her  tenderness 
alone  thou  art  to  expect  any  extraordinary  sup- 
plies for  the  future. ' '  He  was  going  to  express 
his  gratitude  for  such  kindness  in  a  set  speech  ; 
but  the  baronet  prevented  him  by  bidding  him 
not  aggravate  his  meanness,  which  was  already 
but  too  apparent.  He  ordered  him  at  the  same 
time  to  be  gone,  and  from  all  his  former  domes- 
tics to  choose  one,  such  as  he  should  think 
proper,  which  was  all  that  should  be  granted  to 
attend  him. 

As  soon  as  he  left  us.  Sir  William  very  polite- 
ly stepped  up  to  his  new  niece  with  a  smile,  and 


3o6  Zbc  Dicar  of  Wiakcficlt) 

wished  her  joy.  His  example  was  followed  by- 
Miss  Wilmot  and  her  father ;  my  wife,  too, 
kissed  her  daughter  with  much  affection,  as,  to 
use  her  own  expression,  she  was  now  made  an 
honest  woman  of  Sophia  and  Moses  followed 
in  turn,  and  even  our  benefactor,  Jenkinson, 
desired  to  be  admitted  to  that  honor.  Our  sat- 
isfaction seemed  scarcely  capable  of  increase. 
Sir  William,  whose  greatest  pleasure  was  in 
doing  good,  now  looked  round  with  a  counte- 
nance open  as  the  sun,  and  saw  nothing  but  joy 
in  the  looks  of  all  except  that  of  my  daughter 
Sophia,  who,  for  some  reasons  we  could  not 
comprehend,  did  not  seem  perfectly  satisfied.  * '  I 
think  now,"  cried  he,  with  a  smile,  "that  all  the 
company  except  one  or  two  seem  perfectly  hap- 
py. There  only  remains  an  act  of  justice  for 
me  to  do.  You  are  sensible,  sir,"  continued 
he,  turning  to  me,  "  of  the  obligations  we  both 
owe  Mr.  Jenkinson  ;  and  it  is  but  just  we  should 
both  reward  him  for  it.  Miss  Sophia  will,  I  am 
sure,  make  him  very  happy,  and  he  shall  have 
from  me  five  hundred  pounds  as  her  fortune, 
and  upon  this  I  am  sure  the}-  can  live  very  com- 
fortably together.  Come,  Miss  Sophia,  what 
say  you  to  this  match  of  my  making?  Will 
you  have  him  ?  "  My  poor  girl  seemed  almost 
sinking  into  her  mother's  arms  at  the  hideous 
proposal.     "  Have  him,  sir  !  "  cried  she,  faintly. 


^be  ItJicar  of  IMaFictielD  307 

"No,  sir,  never!" — "What!"  cried  he  again, 
"  not  have  Mr.  Jenkinson,  your  benefactor,  a 
handsome  young  fellow  with  five  hundred 
pounds  and  good  expectations  !  " — "I  beg,  sir," 
returned  she,  scarcely  able  to  speak,  "that 
you  '11  desist,  and  not  make  me  so  very  wretched. ' ' 
— "Was  ever  such  obstinacy  known,"  cried  he 
again,  "to  refuse  a  man  whom  the  family  has 
such  infinite  obligations  to,  who  has  preserved 
your  sister,  and  who  has  five  hundred  pounds  1 
What,  not  have  him  !  " — "  No,  sir,  never  !  "  re- 
plied she.  angrily  ;  "  I  'd  sooner  die  first," — "  If 
that  be  the  case  then,"  cried  he,  "if  you  will 
not  have  him,  I  think  I  must  have  you  myself." 
And  so  saying  he  caught  her  to  his  breast  with 
ardor.  "My  loveliest,  my  most  sensible  of  girls," 
cried  he,  * '  how  could  you  ever  think  your  own 
Burchell  could  deceive  you,  or  that  Sir  William 
Thornhill  could  ever  cease  to  admire  a  mistress 
that  loved  him  for  himself  alone  ?  I  have  for 
some  years  sought  for  a  woman,  who,  a  stranger 
to  my  fortune,  could  think  that  I  had  merit  as 
a  man.  After  having  tried  in  vain,  even 
amongst  the  pert  and  the  ugly,  how  great  at 
last  must  be  my  rapture  to  have  made  a  con- 
quest over  such  sense  and  heavenly  beauty!" 
Then  turning  to  Jenkinson,  "  As  I  cannot,  sir, 
part  with  this  young  lady  myself,  for  she  has 
taken  a  fancy  to  the  cut  of  my  face,  all  the  recom- 


3o8  ^be  Dlcar  of  mtiWcticlt) 

pense  I  can  make  is  to  give  you  her  fortune,  and 
you  may  call  upon  my  steward  to-morrow  for  five 
hundred  pounds. "  Thus  we  had  all  our  compli- 
ments to  repeat,  and  Lady  Thomhill  underwent 
the  same  round  of  ceremony  that  her  sister 
had  done  before.  In  the  meantime,  Sir  Will- 
iam's gentleman  appeared  to  tell  us  that  the  equi- 
pages were  ready  to  carry  us  to  the  inn,  where 
every  thing  was  prepared  for  our  reception.  My 
wife  and  I  led  the  van,  and  left  those  gloomy 
mansions  of  sorrow.  The  generous  baronet 
ordered  forty  pounds  to  be  distributed  among 
the  prisoners,  and  Mr.  Wilmot,  induced  by  his 
example,  gave  half  that  sum.  We  were  re- 
ceived below  by  the  shouts  of  the  villagers ; 
and  I  saw  and  shook  by  the  hand  two  or  three 
of  my  honest  parishioners  who  were  among  the 
number.  They  attended  us  to  our  inn,  where  a 
sumptuous  entertainment  was  provided,  and 
coarser  provisions  were  distributed  in  great 
quantities  among  the  populace. 

After  supper,  as  my  spirits  were  exhausted 
by  the  alternation  of  pleasure  and  pain  which 
they  had  sustained  during  the  day,  I  asked  per- 
mission to  withdraw  ;  and  leaving  the  company 
in  the  midst  of  their  mirth,  as  soon  as  I  found 
myself  alone,  I  poured  out  my  heart  in  grati- 
tude to  the  Giver  of  joy  as  well  as  of  sorrow, 
and  then  slept  undisturbed  till  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

The  Conclusion. 

THK  next  morning  as  soon  as  I  awaked  I 
found  my  eldest  son  sitting  by  my  bedside, 
who  came  to  increase  my  joy  with  another  turn 
of  fortune  in  my  favor.  First  having  released 
me  from  the  settlement  that  I  had  made  the 
day  before  in  his  favor,  he  let  me  know  that  my 
merchant  who  had  failed  in  town  was  arrested 
at  Antwerp,  and  there  had  given  up  effects  to 
a  much  greater  amount  than  what  was  due  to 
his  creditors.  My  boy's  generosity  pleased  me 
almost  as  much  as  this  unlooked-for  good  for- 
tune. But  I  had  some  doubts  whether  I  ought 
in  justice  to  accept  his  offer.  While  I  was 
pondering  upon  this.  Sir  William  entered  the 
room,  to  whom  I  communicated  my  doubts. 
His  opinion  was  that  as  my  sou  was  already 
possessed  of  a  A^ery  affluent  fortune  by  his  mar- 
riage, I  might  accept  his  offer  without  any  hesi- 
tation. His  business  however,  was  to  inform 
me  that,  as  he  had  the  night  before  sent  for  the 
licenses,    and   expected  them   every  hour,    he 


3IO  ^be  IDicar  of  Maf^efielD 

hoped  that  I  would  not  refuse  my  assistance  in 
making  all  the  company  happy  that  morning. 
A  footman  entered  while  we  were  speaking,  to 
tell  us  that  the  messenger  was  returned,  and  as 
I  was  by  this  time  ready  I  went  down,  where  I 
found  the  whole  company  as  merry  as  affluence 
and  innocence  could  make  them.  However,  as 
they  were  now  preparing  for  a  ver}^  solemn  cer- 
emony, their  laughter  entirely  displeased  me. 
I  told  them  of  the  grave,  becoming,  and  sub- 
lime deportment  they  should  assume  upon  this 
mystical  occasion,  and  read  them  two  homilies 
and  a  thesis  of  my  own  composing,  in  order  to 
prepare  them.  Yet  they  still  seemed  perfectly 
refractory  and  ungovernable.  Even  as  we  were 
going  along  to  church,  to  which  I  led  the  way, 
all  gravity  had  quite  forsaken  them,  and  I  was 
often  tempted  to  turn  back  in  indignation. 
In  church  a  new  dilemma  arose,  which  prom- 
ised no  easy  solution.  This  was,  which  couple 
should  be  married  first.  My  son's  bride  warmly 
insisted  that  Lady  Thornhill  (that  was  to  be) 
should  take  the  lead  ;  but  this  the  other  re- 
fused with  equal  ardor,  protesting  she  would 
not  be  guilty  of  such  rudeness  for  the  world. 
The  argument  was  supported  for  some  time  be- 
tween both  with  equal  obstinacy  and  good- 
breeding.  But  as  I  stood  all  this  time  with  my 
book  ready,  I  was  at  last  quite  tired  of  the  con- 


trbe  \t)icar  of  Makcfiel^ 


311 


test,    and   shutting  it,    "I   perceive,"    cried   I, 
"that  none  of  you  have  a  mind  to  be  married, 


COMPLIMENTS  AT  THE  ALTAR. 


and  I  think  we  had  as  good  go  back  again  ;  for 
I  suppose  there  will  be  no  business  done  here 
to-day."     This  at  once  reduced  them  to  reason. 


312  Zhc  Dicar  of  'Makefiel& 

The  baronet  and  his  lady  were  first  married, 
and  then  my  son  and  his  lov^ely  partner. 

I  had  pre\nously  that  morning  given  orders 
that  a  coach  should  be  sent  for  my  honest  neigh- 
bor Flamborough  and  his  family,  by  which 
means,  upon  our  retirm  to  the  inn,  we  had  the 
pleasure  of  finding  the  two  Miss  Flamboroughs 
alighted  before  us.  INIr.  Jenkinson  gave  his 
hand  to  the  eldest,  and  my  son  Moses  led  up 
the  other  (and  I  have  since  found  that  he  has 
taken  a  real  liking  to  the  girl,  and  my  consent 
and  bounty  he  shall  have,  whenever  he  thinks 
proper  to  demand  them).  We  were  no  sooner 
returned  to  the  inn,  but  numbers  of  my  parish- 
ioners, hearing  of  my  success,  came  to  congrat- 
ulate me,  but  among  the  rest  were  those  who 
rose  to  rescue  me,  and  whom  I  formerly  rebuked 
with  such  sharpness.  I  told  the  story  to  Sir 
William,  my  son-in-law,  who  went  out  and  re- 
proved them  with  great  severity  ;  but  finding 
them  quite  disheartened  by  his  harsh  reproof, 
he  gave  them  half-a-guinea  a-piece  to  drink  his 
health  and  raise  their  dejected  spirits. 

Soon  after  this  we  were  called  to  a  very  gen- 
teel entertainment,  which  was  dressed  by  Mr, 
Thomhill's  cook.  And  it  may  not  be  improper 
to  observe  with  respect  to  that  gentleman,  that 
he  now  resides  in  quality  of  companion  at  a 
relation's  house,  being  very  well  liked,  and  sel- 


^be  Dicar  ot  11Claheficl^  313 

dom  sitting  at  the  side-table  except  when  there 
is  no  room  at  the  other  ;  for  they  make  no 
stranger  of  him.  His  time  is  pretty  much 
laken  up  in  keeping  his  relation,  who  is  a  little 
melancholy,  in  spirits,  and  in  learning  to  blow 
the  French  horn.  My  eldest  daughter,  how- 
ever, still  remembers  him  with  regret  ;  and  she 
has  even  told  me,  though  I  make  a  great  secret 
of  it,  that  when  he  reforms  she  may  be  brought 
to  relent. 

But  to  return,  for  I  am  not  apt  to  digress 
thus,  when  we  were  to  sit  down  to  dinner,  our 
ceremonies  were  going  to  be  renewed.  The 
question  was,  whether  my  eldest  daughter,  as 
being  a  matron,  should  not  sit  above  the  two 
young  brides  ;  but  the  debate  was  cut  short  by 
my  son  George,  who  proposed  that  the  com- 
pany should  sit  indiscriminately,  every  gentle- 
man by  his  lady.  This  was  received  with  great 
approbation  by  all,  excepting  my  wife,  who,  I 
could  perceive,  was  not  perfectly  satisfied,  as 
she  expected  to  have  had  the  pleasure  of  sitting 
at  the  head  of  the  table  and  carving  all  the 
meat  for  all  the  company.  But  notwithstand- 
ing this,  it  is  impossible  to  describe  our  good- 
humor.  I  can't  say  whether  we  had  more  wit 
among  us  than  usual ;  but  I  am  certain  we  had 
more  laughing,  which  answered  the  end  as 
well.     One  jest  I  particularly  remember :  old 


314  tTbe  IDicar  of  TOQlahefietb 


Mr.  Wilmot  drinking  to  Moses,  whose  head  was 
turned  another  way,  my  son  replied :  "  Madam, 
I  thank  you."  Upon  which  the  old  gentleman, 
winking  upon  the  rest  of  the  company,  ob- 
served that  he  was  thinking  of  his  mistress.  At 
which  jest  I  thought  the  two  Miss  Flambor- 
oughs  would  have  died  with  laughing.  As  soon 
as  dinner  was  over,  according  to  my  old  custom, 
I  requested  that  the  table  might  be  taken  away, 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  all  my  family  as- 
sembled once  more  by  a  cheerful  fireside.  My 
two  little  ones  sat  upon  each  knee,  the  company 
by  their  partners.  I  had  nothing  now  on  this 
side  of  the  grave  to  wish  for  ;  all  my  cares  were 
over ;  my  pleasure  was  unspeakable.  It  now 
only  remained  that  m}'  gratitude  in  good  for- 
tune should  exceed  my  former  submission  in 
adversity. 

THE   END. 


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Aurelius  Antoninus.  Translated  by  George 
Long $i  oo 

"  The  thoughts  of  the  famous  Roman  are  worthy  of  a  new 
introduction  to  the  army  of  readers  through  a  volume  so 
dainty  and  pleasing." — Intelligencer. 

'  "  As  a  book  for  liard  study,  as  a  book  to  inspire  reverie,  as 
a  book  for  five  minutes  or  an  hour,  it  is  both  delightful  and 
profitable." — yoiirnal  of  Education. 

"  It  is  an  interesting  little  book,  and  we  feel  indebted  to  the 
translator  for  this  presentation  of  his  work." — Presbyterian. 

XVI. — iEsop's  Fables.  Rendered  chiefly  from 
original  sources.  By  Rev.  Thomas  James,  M.A. 
With  ICO  illustrations  by  John  Texniell.     $i  25 

"  It  is  wonderful  the  hold  these  parables  have  had  upon 
the  human  attention  ;  told  to  children,  and  yet  of  no  less 
interest  to  men  and  women." — Chautauqua  Herald. 

"  For  many  a  long  day  nothing  has  been  thought  out  or 
worked  out  so  sure  to  prove  entirely  pleasing  to  cultured 
book  -lovers. ' ' —  The  Bookmaker . 

"  These  classic  studies  adorned  with  morals  were  never 
more  neatly  prepared  for  the  public  eye."—  The  Milwaukee 
Wisconsin. 

XVII. — Ancient  Spanish  Ballads.  Historic 
and  Romantic.  Translated,  with  notes,  by  J.  G. 
Loci'CHART.  Reprinted  from  the  revised  edition 
of  1 841,  with  60  illustrations  by  ALLAN,  Roberts, 
SiMsoN,  Warren,  Aubrey,  and  Harvey.    %i  50 

"A  mass  of  popular  poetry  which  has  never  yet  received 
the  attention  to  which  it  ii  entitled." — Boston  Journal  of 
Education. 

"The  historical  and  artistic  settings  of  these  mediaeval 
poetic  gems  enhance  the  value  and  attractiveness  of  th? 
book." — Buffalo  Chronicle  Advocate. 


vi  IknicKerbocher  IFluggetg. 

XVIII.— The  Wit  and  Wisdom  of  Sydney 
Smith.  A  selection  of  the  most  memorable  pas- 
sages in  his  Writings  and  Conversations  .         $i  oo 

XIX.— The  Ideals  of  the  Republic;  or, 
Great  Words  from  Great  Americans.  Com- 
prising :  *'  The  Declaration  of  Independence,  1776"; 
"The  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  1779"; 
"Washington's  Circular  Letter,  1783,"  etc.     $i  00 

XX. — Selections  from  Thomas  De  Quincey. 
Comprising:  "On  Murder  Considered  as  One  of 
the  Fine  Arts";  Three  Memorable  Murders"; 
**The  Spanish  Nun."     .         .         .         .         $1  00 

XXL— Tales  by  Heinrich  Zschokke.  Com- 
prising: "A  New  Year's  Eve";  "The  Broken 
Pitcher";  "Jonathan  Frock";  "A  Walpurgis 
Night."  Translated  by  Parke  Godwin  and 
William  P.  PuENTicr:  .        .        .        .        $r  00 

XXII. — American  War  Ballads.  A  selection 
of  the  more  noteworthy  of  the  Ballads  and  Lyrics 
which  were  produced  during  Lhe  Revolution,  the 
War  of  1 812,  the  Mexican  War,  and  the  Civil  War. 
Edited,  with  notes,  by  Gi:o  Caky  Eggleston. 
With  original  illustrations.     Two  vols.    .         $2  5c 

XXIII. — The  Autobiography  of  Ber.j-min 
Frar.klin.  Edited,  with  notes,  by  John  Bige- 
LOW $1   00 

XXIV. — Songs  of  Fairy  Land.  Compiled  by 
Edward  T.  Mason,  with  illustrations  from  designs 
b^-  Maud  ITlmphrey     .        .        ,        .        $1  25 


ftnlc^erbocker  Budgets.  vfl 

XXV. — Sesame  and   LiUes.     By  John  Rus- 

KIN  ...  .  .  .  $1    OO 

XXVI. — The  Garden,  as  considered  in  literature 
by  certain  polite  writers.  Edited  by  Walter  Howe, 
with  portrait  of  William  Kent         ,         .         $i  oo 

XXVII.— The  Boyhood  and  Youth  of  Goethe. 
Comprising  the  first  thirteen  books  of  his  Autobiog- 
raphy ("Truth  and  Poetry  from  my  own  Life"). 
Two  vols $2  oo 

XXVIII.— The  Sayings  of  Poor  Richard, 
Being  the  Prefaces,  Proverbs,  and  Poems  of  Benja- 
min Franklin,  originally  printed  in  Poor  Richard's 
Almanacs  for  1 733-1 758.  Collected  and  Edited  by 
Paul  L.  Ford.     With  portrait  of  Franklin.   |i  00 

XXIX. — Love  Poems  of  Three  Centuries. 
Compiled  by  Jessie  F.  O'DoNNELL.  Twovols.  ^2  00 

XXX. — Chesterfield's  Letters.  Second 
Series.  Letters  of  Philip  Dormer,  Fourth  Earl  of 
Chesterfield,  to  his  Godson  and  Successor.  Now 
first  edited  from  the  originals,  with  a  Memoir  of 
Lord  Chesterfield  by  the  Earl  of  Carnarvon.  With 
portraits  and  illustrations.     Two  vols.     .         $2  00 

XXXI.  —  Representative  Irish  Stories.  Com- 
piled, with  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  W.  B.  Yeats. 
Two  vols.         .         .         .         .         .         .         $2  00 

XXXII.— French  Ballads.  Printed  in  the 
original  text.  Edited  by  Prof.  T.  F.  Crane. 
Illustrated.       ......         $r   50 

XXXIII. — Eothen.  Pictures  of  Eastern 
Travel.     By  W.  A.  Kinglake.       ,        .     $1  p<? 


•Knickerbocker  BugcietB. 


XXXIV.— Stories  from  the  Arabian  Nights. 
Selected  and  edited  by  Stanley  I.ane-Poole,  with 
additions  newly  translated  from  the  Arabic.  Three 
volumes.  Each  volume  contains  a  frontispiece  in 
photogravure  and  other  designs        .  .         f  3  oo 

XXXV.— A  Selection  from  the  Discourses  of 
Epictetus  ;  with  the  Encheiridion.  Translated 
by  George  Long $i  oo 

XXXVI.  —  Rassclas,  Prince  cf  Abyssinia.  By 
Samuel  Johnson $i  oo 

XXXVII.— Cranford.  By  Mrs.  Gaskell.  $i  oo 

XXXVIII.— German  Ballads.  Printed  in  the 
original  text.  Edited  by  Prof.  H.  S  White.' 
Illustrated        .         .  .         ,         .         |i  5C 

XXXIX.— Wit  and  Wisdom  of  Charles 
Lamb.  A  selection  from  Lamb's  Letters  and 
Essays,  together  with  Anecdotes  by  his  Friends. 
Compiled  by  Ernest  D.  North     .         .        $i  oo 

XL. — Whist  Nuggets.  Papers  about  Whist 
and  Whist-Players.  Compiled  by  W.  G.  Mc- 
GucKiN |r  oo 

X LI. —The  Iliads  of  Homer.  Translated  from 
the  Greek,  by  George  Chapman.  With  a  full 
series  of  illustrations  from  Flaxman's  designs  and 
from  Greek  vases.  3  vols.,  uniform  with  the 
"Ballad"   volumes  of  the  Nuggets         .         .|3  75 

XLII.— Selections  from  the  Spirit  of  the 
Age,  or  Contemporary  Portraits.  By  William 
Hazlitt.  Edited  with  an  introduction  by  Regi- 
nald Brimley  Johnson.     Cloth  .        .        $1  00 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S    SONS,  Publishers 
New  York  and  London 


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